


Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended

by lilsmartass



Series: First Impressions and Second Chances [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, angsty angst fic of doom, but it does get mean in places, seriously it's not intentional, there will be a happy ending promise, unintentional bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG-13
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.
> 
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions
> 
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen
> 
> A/N: My computer screen is really quite badly damaged (hopefully santa will bring me a new one wish wish) so I hope I've caught any errors but I can only see about 2/3s of my screen so there might be more typos than normal. Sorry guys.

** Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended **

Them moving in is actually more than a little awkward. It’s not like Tony hadn’t already been planning on it, the single A left perfectly at the top of the tower, none of the other letters of his name surrounding it, is as close to an omen as he’s ever likely to see. When he remodelled and redecorated he created space for all of them. He was however, waiting for Bruce to calm down enough to come back from whichever part of India he’s holed himself up in. Bruce is the only one Tony really had a rapport with, and Bruce got on well enough with the others and would likely smooth the way a bit with his mild mannered routine, and if his mild mannered thing wasn’t enough, the suggestion that he might get angry if they didn’t all bake team building cookies together or something might work. If Bruce had taken a while to convince himself that living somewhere were SHIELD and the military and the combined governments of the western world was not completely inconceivable, Tony might have moved them in when Thor got back. He’s already making plans to get Jane Foster on Sis staff, they could use brains and lateral thinking like hers and Tony is not above bribery, and if Thor was there this would all be easy because everyone likes Thor. Even _Fury_ likes Thor. He’s still in Asgard though, as remote and unreachable as Bruce’s Indian location. So Tony had been waiting, he is, occasionally, capable of demonstrating patience and restraint.

All of which is why it’s so awkward when, at one of the post clean-up debriefings Fury makes them go to after making them help with rubble removal in their full gear so the press can identify them doing it, the man barks, “Stark. You’ve got space at that tower of yours? You can all stay there then. I’m sick of the media camped out around my supposedly top secret base trying to snap a picture of Captain America in his long johns.”

Steve blushes and says, “Yes sir,” before Barton, who’s already opened his mouth can object.

And that’s that really, Fury’s always been a demanding bastard and Tony can hardly say they’re not invited. That’ll just make him look like a dick later when he invites Bruce to move in, and contrary to expectations Tony is not actually a complete bastard. Not most of the time. Some of the time at least. Besides, the tower is too quiet ever since the night Pepper tearfully confessed that she just couldn’t take the stress of not knowing if he was going to do something dangerously heroic like fly a nuke through an alien portal without any warning and had left him to go and clear her head in Malibu, get some space. Tony hadn’t even tried to stop her. He’d always been willing to give Pepper the world when she cried. “Give me a week to get some rooms ready,” he says instead, tiredly running a hand through sweat sodden hair.

“Three days,” Fury barks.

Tony sticks his tongue out at him when he turns his back. It doesn’t get the laughs he expects, but he already knows that Rogers is a stick in the mud about authority and Barton and Natal- Natasha might know something he doesn’t- like he rips out stuck out tongues with pliers. Whatever.

Tony’s always worked well under pressure though, and the three days he spends delightedly getting their rooms ready are some of the most fun he’s had in ages. So fun that it doesn’t even occur to him to miss Pepper, and her absence has been like a raw burn in his chest.

Forget rooms, he has designed them whole floors and he actually has the plans ready to go, so it’s simply a case of throwing enough money at various contractors to get them to appreciate that this really is urgent and that he won’t be standing for delays for part delivery. He orders them everything he can think of, and some other things besides, decorating a reasonably sized and functional kitchen, bathroom, living room and sleeping area on each floor as well as providing each of them with extra spaces suited to them. He turns a large room with huge bay windows into an art studio for Steve, having always treasured the doodled sketch Auntie Peggy had given him during his Captain America fanboy phase to rival Coulson’s own. For Barton he turns the whole west end of his floor into a shooting gallery. He doesn’t have time with Fury’s insane deadline to design any really amazing target programmes, but he has a few left over from when he was first learning precision shooting with his repulsors and he has JARVIS make sure these are accessible. And Natal- Natasha, god, he’s still getting used to that. Well, he knows she’s deadly and more dangerous than most of the things he expects that they will end up fighting, but she’s also almost ridiculously beautiful and in his not inconsiderable experience with women, he knows she’ll have stacks of clothes and shoes and will want to collect more now that she’s got a full time living space so he provides her with two enormous walk in closets, and an armoury so she doesn’t think he thinks she only cares about shoes because some women are weird about that.

He makes sure the rest of the house is ready too, stocking up the communal living area with every games console known to man, and enough movies to put a video rental store to shame, and making sure the communal fridge has everything anyone could possibly want in it, even though their own kitchens are stocked and ready. Rogers is a sap, Tony bets he’ll want team building dinners and breakfasts of togetherness. The thought makes him have to hide the sort of beaming grin that would ruin his reputation as cynical if it ever got out. The gym on the lower levels is already well stocked, but Tony hasn’t got round to designing an unbreakable punching bag yet, he’s been too busy with clean up and reassuring SI that their stocks weren’t going to drop even though Iron Man had been involved with a stunt which levelled half of the Island of Manhattan, so he orders twenty regular heavy weight ones, figuring that they might at least keep Rogers going until he does finally get round to it.

By the time JARVIS announces, “Agents Barton and Romanov and Captain Rogers have arrived sir,” Tony is wired from caffeine and excitement and all but bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“OK JARVIS, let them know I’m on my way. Be cool.”

“I am cool sir,” and if he didn’t know better he’d swear that was a smirk in his AI’s voice.

“I can reprogram you with a hammer,” he threatens good naturedly as the elevator doors spring open. He can’t help the twitch of pride and pleasure that curls his lips at the sight of the team, _his_ team, standing and looking around in amazement. “Welcome to Diagon Alley,” he says, waving a hand around.

“Stark,” Rogers greets in a level tone, holding his hand out formally.

It takes Tony aback slightly, but then, he can’t really expect Rogers to get a Harry Potter reference. The manic overexcited twitching is coming back full force, he’s going to have _so much fun_ introducing Rogers to this century.

“Thanks for having us,” the man continues, and that...nuh uh.

Tony blows air out loudly over his lips. “Don’t do that Cap. Mi casa, su casa.”

Rogers looks slightly confused but nods anyway, “Thanks anyway.”

Again Tony waves the thanks away, “How do you want to do this? Rooms first? Or the full tour? Do you have any more stuff to bring in?”

“Not all of us have a whole tower to fill with possessions Stark,” Barton says dryly.

Tony smirks back, “You can’t embarrass me Legolas. I’m an unrepentant materialist. And I don’t just have a tower to fill with things, I have half a dozen properties in the states alone, never mind the houses in Europe.” Then he looks at the three of them properly, realising they’re all holding only good sized duffel bags. “Seriously though, is that all you’ve got?”

Natasha’s – yes he remembered her name this time – lips purse very slightly but she answers calmly, “We’ve all just come from the SHIELD barracks Stark, there’s not exactly room for a lot of personal possessions. The Captain might have a few things in storage but...”

Tony frowns slightly, “but your dresses. I know dresses, they take up space, and they have...accessories, matching shoes and purses and stuff, they can’t possibly be in that.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Those dresses aren’t mine. They are provided by SHIELD for undercover operations. I return them afterwards.”

“You’re an international superspy and you don’t even get to keep the clothes and designer shoes?”

“Not all of us need compensated for what we do Stark.”

That takes him aback slightly, he hadn’t meant to imply...but he supposes he didn’t make the world’s greatest impression on Natasha, so he bites his tongue against the acid words in his throat and says cheerfully, “Well, you’ve got space now. You can always go shopping later. Come on, you might as well drop off your duffels and check out your floors first and then I’ll show you around.”

“Floors?” Rogers has come to a halt in the middle of the room.

“What now?” Tony huffs impatiently, “Yes floors. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure having roomies will be wonderful, but we all need a little space once in a while.” He notes out of the corner of his eye how Barton and Natasha draw fractionally closer together, how they move in sync. “Uh...I gave you each your own floor but if you two have some...” he pauses, uncharacteristically searching for a delicate word, “arrangement I can move stuff around. There’s plenty of space.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him like she’s considering ripping his spine out of his mouth and Steve blushes to his ears before saying repressively, “I don’t really think it’s appropriate to question the lady’s private life Stark.”

“This why my charms didn’t work on you Natalie?” Tony teases. “You’re a lucky man Barton.” The atmosphere in the elevator turns icy as the other three glare at him. Tony throws up his hands, “Fine. Fine. We won’t talk about your secret romance.” He’s more unsettled than he’s willing to admit by the quiet, unfriendly glares, but he’s been called obnoxious by more people than he cares to name and he supposes that being nosy about people who keep secrets for a living is a sure way to provoke their ire, so he drops the line of questioning as the elevator springs open. “OK, floor sixty-nine, this is you Cap.”

Barton looks at him in mingled disgust and humour, and for a moment Tony isn’t sure why.

“Oh my God Barton,” he says, laughing, “You have such a filthy mind. That’s not...I gave you this floor Cap,” he says with exaggerated dignity, “because I thought you’d like the windows for your art studio.”

“Art...studio?” Rogers sounds faint.

Tony nods so hard he makes himself feel dizzy. He forcibly reminds himself that he is no longer a Captain America fanboy and that he can act like a reasonable adult, not a star struck pre teen girl meeting Robert Pattenson, and leads the group over to the door at the end of the hallway which opens up into the apartment. He conducts everyone through, waving his hands at the rooms (kitchen, I’ve put food in it, dad didn’t leave many notes but I know your metabolism is super fast so just let me know if there’s anything else you need; art studio, I can’t even draw stick figures but I bought everything the guy at the store recommended for portraits and sketching, that’s what you do right?) as he goes.

Rogers looks slightly shell shocked as he drops his duffel on the bed and then follows Tony down, through Barton’s floor and then Natasha’s. He takes them through the rest of the tower, talking faster and faster as the amazed looks on their face increase with each subsequent wonder and finally, they end up in the garage, in front of his workshop. He snaps his fingers under Barton’s nose as he sees the man’s lustful stare land on his Ferrari, “Hey, eyes off my baby. She’s a lady. You can’t look at her like that,” he mock chides, making a mental note that probably none of them have wheels of their own and since no one wants to ride the subway make sure to get them some and to make sure that they know Happy will always take them where they want to go, “This is my workshop. It’s always locked because it’s full of dangerous shit. This intercom here will connect you to JARVIS and if it won’t kill you, he’ll let you in OK?”

“Is your AI monitoring our rooms Stark?” Natasha asks, finally able to get a word in edge ways now the whistle stop tour is winding down.

“There are security features in your rooms for obvious safety reasons,” Tony says, and holds up a hand and raises his voice against the sounds of outrage from the others as he continues, “But JARVIS only actively monitors your rooms in the event that you say his name. If you say his name and say nothing further to him for five consecutive minutes the security in there goes back to passive scanning.”

“And passive scanning means?” Natasha demands acidly.

“No audio or visual surveillance but a constant up link of medical data – heart rate, body temperature whatever, of the people on those floors. There’s also an intruder alert function so you need to bring any guests in through the doors not magic them in by ninja skills.” Everyone looks doubtful and Tony sighs heavily, “It’s the same features I have in my bedroom. I like JARVIS and all, we’re buddies, but there are things I do in my bedroom and in my shower that I don’t really want an audience for, even a supportive audience like JARVIS. I’ve just extended that across your whole floors. I know he makes a lot of people nervous at first.”

“And the communal areas?”

“JARVIS is fully active in those. Don’t have sex in TV room. I will have footage of it HD,” Tony grins.

Rogers looks disgusted, “Is sex all you think about?”

“Nope, I think about robots too.”

Barton mutters something under his breath, but Tony doesn’t respond to it more than shooting the archer a narrow-eyed, but amused, glare because he really is trying not to shock Roger’s 1940’s sensibilities.

There’s a long, awkward silence. “Anyone want some lunch?” Tony asks eventually to break it, because he’s pretty sure part of being a host is to make sure that your guests are not starving to death in front of you. Not that he thinks of his team as _guests_ but it’s probably hard for them to think of the tower as home straight away. If they’re used to barracks living this must be like something out of a fairy tale, it’s natural that they’d feel a bit uncertain. That knowledge does not quiet the disappointment in his chest.

The three don’t swap look, but Tony can tell they want to, tell that they’re thinking at each other. “We’ve actually got to go into SHIELD and report so that they know...you know...that our move went OK...and everything. We’ll just grab something there.”

It’s such an obvious lie Tony is almost embarrassed for Rogers. “Oh. OK,” he hears himself say, his words tinny and distant in his own ears. He almost opens his mouth to ask if they want to do dinner instead, but they’re already gone, laughing and joking with one another with easy camaraderie all the more striking for the tense silence that had characterised them as Tony showed them around, as soon as they round the corner towards the elevator. He looks after them for a second, brow furrowed and then turns to let himself into the workshop. The last round of cleanup had left his armour dented and scraped from the rubble and he wants it to be in pristine condition the next time he’s called out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen

** Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended **

Rogers rejects every one of his planned...no he’s not calling them bonding exercises, but Tony merely rolls his eyes, assumes that Rogers feels like Tony is pissing on his turf because he’s the Captain and he’ll organise the bonding exercises dammit and waits for him to do so. And waits. And continues to wait.

He doesn’t ask JARVIS about their movements, because that seems like the kind of breach of privacy that if Natasha ever finds out about she can, and will, disembowel him over, but the communal areas remain untouched. Strangely, that relaxes him slightly. They’ve all got their separate wonder apartments and they’re all obviously, and misguidedly, treating this more like living in the same high rise and being neighbours, rather than sharing one big house.

He carefully and painstakingly types up instructions for the huge television and each individual games console, adding a notation that JARVIS can help them if he’s missed anything, and invites them all to a big video game party that evening, and then goes downstairs to see if he can get some more work down on the reinforced, transparent, material he’s trying to design to Hulk proof the lab he’s building for Bruce. All the lab space is down here, for the simple expedient of it being easy to bring in and remove large, heavy pieces of equipment, but that means there’s little natural light. It’s why he has glass walls, or at least walls that look like glass, but just because he has more faith in Bruce’s control than Bruce apparently does himself, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know _how_ to take precautions. And in the event of a Hulk incident, the last thing anyone also wants to be dealing with is tiny shards of glass.

It’s really not his fault that he forgets all about the plans he’s made with the others. He’s not used to having plans, not used to having plans that Pepper doesn’t text him every hour to remind him about anyway, and he was so excited about this it hadn’t occurred to him to tell JARVIS to remind him and he and JARVIS are happily bickering about the merits of disregarding the ideal of Hulk proof glass and simply setting blast shields to descend should Bruce’s body stats rise to those of the Hulk. He’s having fun.

It’s not until his phone buzzes and he picks it up to check the message that he glimpses the time, blinking on the screen. 23:11. “Shit,” he mutters. “I missed the Mario Kart party.” He bites the rest of what he was about to say off mid sentence as he reads though. _Avengers Assemble._

The Mark VII is still in pieces across his workbench undergoing repairs. “JARVIS,” he snaps out, “Assemble the Mark V.” Within moments he’s suited up and ready to go. “Cap?” he asks the comm.

“Iron Man,” Captain America says, and Tony a moment to be pleased with himself about how much better than SHIELD’s shitty headsets these communicators are. It sounds like Cap is right there in the suit with him. “We have a report of mutants robbing a bank in Midtown.”

“Where are you?”

“SHIELD has sent us a van. We’re en route.”

“OK fine. I’ll go see what’s happening shall I?”

“Do not engage until we get there Iron Man.”

“Roger Rogers,” Tony smirks into the transmitter and rockets out and up over the night of New York.

The advantage of a bank heist at this time of night is that there are no hostages to get in the way and complicate matters. Even without Bruce or Thor they are able to put a stop to the attack quickly enough. It seems to be a few high school kids, planning to go on the run to hide their mutant powers and needing a cash float to do that in any real comfort. All three of them break down in tears, cuffed in the back of the SHIELD van.

The Agent accompanying them, (no one is saying handler, no one is even _thinking_ handler, the loss of Coulson being too much, too raw) rolls his eyes and call Xavier and the rest of his team.

Tony does one final check of the perimeter, making sure that there’s nothing else happening, that this isn’t an elaborate distraction, then goes to fetch Barton from the perch he’d deposited him on. He’d been invaluable at calling out the movements of the mutants, two of whom had been teleporters. Tony had never really thought about it before, not until Fury had brought it up anyway, but this team thing really does have advantages. Even as incompetent and unthreatening as these kids were, he’d have had a much harder time stopping them alone.

He brings them to a smooth land in front of Rogers but doesn’t open his face plate because he hadn’t exactly had time to clean up before getting into the armour and he’s been building all day and god knows what he looks like. “We should make sure to get contact details for the X-men,” he says, nodding his head at the Agent on the phone. “We managed this time, but with mutants, we could use their expertise.”

“Good thinking Iron Man,” says Rogers, and Tony manfully doesn’t snigger at the world’s stupidest sentence. He does feel a tiny flush of pride at Captain America’s warm praise though. He gets why Barton and Natasha might cling to their code names, they’ve already had enough (too much) exposure but the world already knows who he is. Rogers doesn’t have to take the same care with him.

Before he can say anything though, Rogers has spun on his heel in the sort of perfectly executed military turn that Rhodey probably has wet dreams about, and wandered off, talking to each and every one of the civilians pushed against the hastily constructed police barrier. He honest to god gets down on one knee to solemnly tell a crowd of little boys that their part in this battle (cheering loudly) was greatly appreciated. He talks to all the milling SHIELD agents and seems to know every single one by name and rank. It’s a little bit nauseating, but Tony, safely hidden behind his face plate gives a sappy smile anyway because _this_ man, who knows and cares about every one of his people, this is the leader of men Auntie Peggy always talked about and is so much better than the Hitler punching propaganda icon.

“So,” he says, turning to Barton, “Have fun with all my games consoles? I kind of forgot about you.”

Barton’s forehead creases slightly before smoothing out but Tony lets it go, the flat, not quite inflectionless, intonation of the suit’s speakers disconcerts a lot of people at first. “Yeah. It was great.”

Tony waits, but nothing more is forth coming. “Want to carry on when we get back to the tower? We can order in pizza.”

Barton runs a hand over his grimy face and quirks a smile, “Man, I’m wiped,” he says.

Tony sighs, but he supposes exhaustion is a natural response from fighting crime. He remembers the bone deep lethargy that had settled over all of them in the shwarma place after Loki’s invasion. He doesn’t feel as bad as that, he feels more wired, still full of adrenaline and more than ready to go a few rounds of Grand Theft Auto, but he can hardly blame Barton if he needs to sleep.

He flies back on his own because it’s just easier to do that than to try and take off the suit without robotic help in the back of a van. After he finally does take it off and dismantle it, setting it on the side ready for a complete check and needed repairs, he’s still wound too tightly to sleep. He decides to head up and see if Natasha or Cap is still wandering about and if either of them wants to watch a movie or something. Personally, he’s got a craving for Die Hard. There’s just something unsatisfying about being called to suit up and nothing exploding.

On the communal floor he can hear laughter, and loud chatter, and his grin widens, a bounce creeping in to his step but he stops at the door, happiness leeching from him as he sees the other three, still damp from the showers they all raced through, sprawled comfortably eating pizza and waving wii remotes around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen

** Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended **

“So then what?”

“Well...then I left,” Tony says like it’s obvious.

Bruce sighs, “Oh Tony. Why?”

Tony would never accuse Bruce Banner of being stupid, but the look he now gives the phone suggests that that might, in fact, be the case. “Uh...because I managed to get de-invited from my own party?”

Bruce snorts a laugh. “Are you a twelve year old girl?”

“Oh I’m _all_ man baby,” Tony drawls out of sheer habit.

Bruce laughs again. “I don’t think you got de-invited. I think you failed to show up. I mean, it was your idea; they were probably waiting for you. It probably didn’t even occur to them to call you since you set it up. They will have thought you knew they were there and just...didn’t want to.”

Tony is beginning to feel stupider by the minute. “But...Barton said he didn’t want to. He-” he cuts himself off, and does not whine _he lied to me Bruce._

Judging by the sound Bruce makes, he probably knows what the end of that sentence would have been. “There’s this thing Tony, I know you’ve heard of it. It’s called changing your mind.”

Tony scowls at the phone. “You’re an ass,” he says, “see if I make you any more solar powered, third world resistant medical tech.”

Bruce gives a proper laugh this time, a full throated sound which tugs the corners of Tony’s lips up despite themselves. “How will I survive?” he mocks.

Tony gives an offended sniff, “Just for that, I’m going to stop designing you pants that stretch with you when you Hulk out so you might wake up somewhere crazy, but at least you won’t be naked.”

There’s a slight silence. For a second Tony thinks he’s lost the connection. Then Bruce speaks again, “Why would you make me something like that?”

“I thought...I thought you might like it. I mean...I don’t mind waking up naked in strange places but usually I have a gorgeous lady or three to help me out.”

“That’s really-”

“If you say kind, or, heaven forbid, thoughtful, I am never inventing anything for you again. I mean it Banner. I am an insufferable jackass who doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings.”

“Really?”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Look, I really have to go. Go and be insufferable at one of the others OK? And apologise for not showing up to your thing. They probably waited for you all night.”

“I don’t apologise.”

Bruce huffs. “Fine. Don’t actively antagonise.”

“Does pantsing Cap count as actively antagonising?”

“Goodbye Tony.”

“Fine. Goodbye. Go and save babies or whatever it is you’re doing.”

He hangs up, still laughing from the conversation, talking to Bruce always made him feel better. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to sulk his way out of pizza. Fuck’s sake, even if he’d thought they were excluding him, he should have sacked up enough to go and join them anyway. What were they going to do? Get up and leave? This isn’t middle school. Still, he feels awkward just going to find the others, he really doesn’t know what he could possibly say to them to start a conversation. He’d just never _had_ a conversation with them outside of Avengers debriefs and a few arguments with Cap on the helicarrier. The last time he really talked with Natasha he thought she was called Natalie.

His eyes flit around the workshop for inspiration and land on a quiver of ballistic arrows he’s been designing for Barton. They could be better, he knew they could be better, but he needs some impact data before they could really see what was effective and what wasn’t. He grabs them. They’d be a good opening gambit to start a conversation with. Barton could go shoot them, he could watch and take the notes he needs and while he’s up there he’d programme some more complex shooting patterns into the range while he had Barton there to discuss the specifics of what he needs.

“Candygram,” he announces as he enters the kitchen.

Barton and Natasha, head to head as always, break off their intense conversation and both glare at him.

Tony puts the quiver down on the table, “Presents Barton,” he announces.

The archer narrows his eyes warily, “What are they?”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I thought an archer of your calibre would recognise arrows.”

“OK. Why?”

He doesn’t really understand and blinks, looking at Natasha uncertainly. Natasha’s face offers no cues though. “Have you never been given a present before Barton?” he says, waspishly, “Christmas at your house must have been downright depressing.”

Barton’s lips tighten, and Tony knows he’s made a mistake. Barton makes an abortive movement, like he’s about to stand up from the table and Tony finds himself falling automatically into a fighter’s stance. Barton has a lot of skill on him, but in muscle mass they’re pretty much even. If the man wants to punch him he probably can, but Tony’s not going to just sit there and take it. Natasha interrupts the burgeoning fight by pinning Tony with a steely gaze and saying, “He means, what do you want for it?” Each word as sharp and precise as a blade.

Now he’s even more bewildered. “What do I-? It’s not a fucking barter system. I made them. I thought you’d like them. I need some more data to finalise them for the field. End of.”

“You want me to be your test monkey?” Barton relaxes slightly, though his face still looks pinched.

“I...no. I made them for you. But they’re not finished yet and I don’t know enough about the technicalities of archery to finish them without more data.”

“Sure,” Barton stands, snags the quiver. For a moment Tony thinks all is forgiven as Barton saunters out of the kitchen but he calls back over his shoulder, “I’ll get back to you; let you know what needs fixing up.”

“I thought I’d come and...I don’t know...observe?” Tony says, but it’s too late. Barton’s already disappeared from view.

He turns, planning on sharing his sentiments about this with Natasha but she’s already so close behind him that he makes a sound (it’s not a squeak, and even if it _is_ there’s no one here to hear it) and scrambles backwards. “If you ever make another crack about Clint’s family,” she says with absolute calm, “They will never even think to look for your body. Understand?”

Tony nods slowly, a few more pieces clicking into place. What he had said hadn’t just been a slight misstep then it had obviously been really unforgivable. No wonder Barton had gone off on his own. Normal people would probably apologise and explain themselves, but that never even enters Tony’s head. He just nods and scurries shame facedly from the kitchen even though he hasn’t had anything to eat in hours.

He doesn’t go back to the workshop, heading instead for his own suite of rooms. “JARVIS?”

“Yes sir?”

“Are we still in SHIELD’s secure server?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Get me the personal profiles of the others.” He feels a slight twinge of guilt as he says it but pushes it away. It’s not like he’s doing this to satisfy his own curiosity. If there are minefields like this all over the place he needs to know what they are. And besides, he justifies it to himself, Coulson had actually given him the other’s files to read, but he hadn’t done so, less interested in people with Selvig’s experimentation on the Tesseract laid out in front of him. They’ve all almost certainly read his file.

JARVIS, thankfully, says nothing, merely gives him the requested documents, and he settles in to read, focussing on trying to understand these brilliant people that he’s somehow found himself in a superhero boy band with. He starts with Cap’s because he knows most of it. Obvious PTSD from the war, and his plane going down and losing Sergeant Barnes, but no dark secrets hidden away in Steve’s past other than his possible medical trauma. Bruce’s he skips altogether. Bruce isn’t here to worry about falling over accidental triggers and he’s far less temperamental. The SHIELD Agent’s files lead him on a merry paper chase through the SHIELD files though, searching for details and information on specific missions referred to.

It’s a total accident that he stumbles across it but as soon as he does, it’s like all the air has left the room. He stands, STARKpad falling to the floor but he barely notices. “JARVIS, where are the others?”

“Captain Rogers is in his studio, Agent Barton is in his own kitchen and Agent Romanov is in the gym.”

“Get them to the communal sitting room. I have news.”

He’s the last one there and they don’t look impressed to be waiting for him, but Tony is buzzing from his discovery and too used to hostile boardrooms to even really notice. “Coulson’s alive,” he bursts out with.

For a second, total silence descends across the room. “What?”

Tony nods emphatically, head bobbing furiously. “He’s in medical on the helicarrier, some experimental thing...but they think he’ll pull through.”

“But the Director...”

“Fury,” says Tony with obvious relish, “is a lying liar who lies.”

“We have to go and see him.”

“That’s why I came to get you.”

There is no debate as they head, as a unified group, to the Quinjet. Barton slides into the pilot’s seat, Natasha alongside him and in mere moments they’re in the sky. Rogers radios in their clearance to land, the only one who can be trusted not to subject the recording officer with a barrage of abuse, though his voice is still clipped and stern. It’s also enough to set off alarm bells, or maybe the unscheduled arrival if the Avengers does that, but when they finally stride out of the Quinjet, vibrating with repressed anger and the will to do battle, they find both Fury and Maria Hill waiting for them.

Barton looks like he’s ready to stride past them and rip the place apart to find Coulson, and Natasha almost certainly will be right behind him if he tries. Rogers restrains him with a firm grip to his shoulder and a warning eyebrow and Natasha falls into a loose imitation of parade rest beside him. Tony suspects she’s fingering a knife behind her back. He himself is about three seconds away from punching Fury full in the face, but he has just enough control left to realise that such an action will not, most likely, end well for him. Still shaking with rage, he stops on the other side of Rogers and treats Fury and the Assistant Director to his most vicious smile. “I learned something interesting today Director.”

Fury looks calculating enough that Tony _knows_ there are more secrets hidden away in SHIELD’s archives, but he doesn’t leave time for Fury to incriminate himself by trying to justify anything else.

“You told us Coulson was _dead_! You told us Loki had killed him.”

“He was...for a while. That he was resuscitated at all is a miracle.”

“Not miracle enough for you to have mentioned it,” Tony all but shouts the last words.

Fury cocks his head to the side, gaze narrowing down to stare only at Tony rather than all of them loosely clustered together. “And how did you learn about this Stark? Is your AI still in my computers?”

“Oh course my AI is in your computers. As though the idiots you call specialists could remove JARVIS.”

Fury nods, once. Slowly. “So what else have you been looking at Mr. Stark that would have led you to the information about Agent Coulson.”

The attention in the room shifts. Tony feels it, crackling like static over his skin. “How is that in any way relevant to this discussion which is about your deliberate deceit?”

Maria Hill is tapping away on a tablet of her own. “The personal files,” she announces. “He was linked to Coulson’s medical status through the personal files of Coulson’s assets.”

Natasha hisses a breath, surprise or anger, Tony isn’t sure. “Stark?” she questions, voice as cold as a Russian winter.

“I was just trying to find out what upset Barton so badly this morning when I mentioned his family,” Tony defends himself with an absent hand wave, still glaring at Fury.

This time, the hiss doesn’t come from Natasha. But it’s her who demands, “You were _spying_ on us?” she’s obviously enraged.

“You know, it’s actually ironic for you to get upset about that considering how we met.”

She doesn’t look like she sees the funny side, striding around Rogers and poking him hard in the chest. “The stuff in there is _private_ Stark. That’s why it’s _classified._ If we wanted you to know, we’d have told you.”

Tony turns to Rogers helplessly, sure that any moment now the other man will point out that they’ve all seen Tony’s file (and there’s things in there he’d rather nobody know, rather _he_ didn’t know), point out that he’s seen both of theirs and it’s not like Tony’s going to do anything with the information, he’d just wanted to learn more about them. Rogers is glaring at him with unconcealed disgust. “You... _sneak_ ,” he says, venomously. It’s almost funny that that’s the worst insult he can muster.

Natasha looks like she’s about to rip his throat out with her teeth. She probably can too. Tony brings one hand up to cover the ARC reactor instinctively and Barton puts a stop to all the drama by ignoring it completely and saying loudly, “Back to the matter in hand, can we see Phil?”

Fury’s expression softens very fractionally. “You and Agent Romanov can, but I don’t think he’s up for more general visitors.” He casts an apologetic look at Rogers who bows his head in quiet acceptance.

Barton is already out the door in the wake of Fury’s words. “He,” says Natasha to Fury, pointing viciously at Tony, finger stabbing him again, “doesn’t visit. Agent Barton and I are the closest Phil has to family and we say no. Understand Director?”

“I give the orders around here Romanov.” If Fury had turned that tone on him, Tony would have curled up in a ball and wept. Natasha folds her arms and waits, expressionless. Fury sighs, “He has no reason to visit Agent Coulson anyway,” he acknowledges grudgingly.

Natasha nods her thanks and scurries after Barton. “Don’t wait for us Captain. We could be awhile.”

There’s silence. “If you have a moment Captain,” says Fury, “there’re some reports I’d like you to look over. And you,” he turns to Tony. Rogers doesn’t turn to look at him, what Tony can still see of his face is clenched tight with rage.

“I’m going,” Tony interrupts before Fury can have a chance to throw him off the helicarrier. He attempts an airy wave, suspecting he falls miserably short. “Places to go, people to see.”

“See that you get your AI out of my computers,” Fury adds, leading Rogers through the far door.

He has to get a SHIELD pilot to take him home. He’s not sure who’s more upset about this, him, or the poor guy who was evidently on Hill’s shit list this week and gets stuck in a helicopter with an incandescent Iron Man. It’s an awkward journey. He busies himself texting Pepper to let her know about Agent. In seconds the phone rings.

“Tony?” It’s Pepper of course. “He’s really alive? Phil?”

“Why _is_ he Phil?” Tony snaps back, unreasonably irritated and hurt by the relief in Pepper’s voice.

Pepper too evidently hears something in his tone because there’s a pause and then she says, “What’s the matter?”

Tony twists his mouth, irritation and hurt giving way to sheer frustration. He knows how it will sound if I tries to steal Agent’s miraculous-return-from-death thunder by complaining that everyone was mean to him. “Fury got in a snit about JARVIS discovering his super secret secrets,” he says.

Pepper sighs. “Did you hack SHIELD? Again?”

His silence is answer enough.

“Oh Tony.”

“Everyone was delighted with my discovery and then Fury got all,” Tony waves his fingers, a gesture he knows Pepper can’t see, “and suddenly, it was all _my_ fault and I’m the one in the wrong.” He sees the pilot half turn in his seat and he forces his expression from lost little boy to sarcastic arrogance, “There’s gratitude for you.”

“It’s supposed to be a very clandestine organisation Tony. You can’t just break in.”

“They should invest in some proper security then.”

“Why don’t you show them how it’s done then Tony? You could create something much better.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing Ms. Potts. You’re trying to manipulate me into giving Fury tech.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you into anything Tony, but surely you understand why they might have been upset.”

“That’s not...I read their files.”

“What?”

“Barton and Natasha. I read their files. I think they want to use me for target practice.”

“What on _Earth_ made you think that would be a good idea?” Pepper is not, quite, shrieking at him. She must still be in the office and not want her secretary to have to come and find out what’s wrong.

“I said something to Barton and he got really upset. I was looking to check I didn’t say anything really offensive. You know not...not my usual charming self...anything really...” he trails off, Pepper doesn’t respond and he finds himself adding defensively, “They’ve all seen mine!”

“OK,” Pepper says soothingly. “OK, I understand where you’re coming from but...that may not have been your best decision.” Tony makes an impatient noise at her and the tone of Pepper’s voice tells her that she’s wearing her tolerantly irritated expression. “You can’t just go and read people’s secrets so you don’t say anything that reminds them of those secrets,” Pepper explains, “that’s just not how human interaction works.”

“See, this is why I need you,” Tony jokes, but it comes out a bit rawer than he intended. This _is_ why he needs her. Tony had never really had opportunity to make friends like this. He’d always been so far ahead that there had been no point for him in conventional schooling so Howard had arranged for him to have tutors, even at boarding school, he’d spent very little time in the classroom, and he’d been at MIT at fifteen, far too young to be included socially amongst his peers. Oh people had spent time with him for his wealth, his looks, his name, but there had never been anyone who he had felt the depth of emotion he feels for the other Avengers. Even Pepper and Rhodey, though he would never do them the disservice of assuming that it was still the case, had met him, and grown to know him, because they were being paid to do so. Pepper as his assistant and Rhodey as the military liaison to SI. He doesn’t know how to do this. A thundering beat of insecurity he had thought long since buried is beating a tattoo on the inside of his skull.

Pepper however does take his words as a joke, not calling him out on his feelings. She laughs lightly. “Just...next time just stop and think Tony. OK?”

“Stopping and thinking, sounds boring,” he responds.

She laughs again. “So, Phil?”

Tony had forgotten. “Oh yes, Agent. Apparently he’s fine. Healing.” He doesn’t tell Pepper he’s been banned from visiting. “You should have SI send a fruit basket or...no wait. The Captain America trading cards? Dad had a set. They’re in the archives somewhere. Dig them out and send those over. Fury ruined his convincing us that the rumours of his death were not exaggerated.”

He can feel Pepper’s organised little nod. “Alright, I’ll find them. Anything else Mr. Stark?”

“That’ll be all Ms. Potts,” he answers, distracted by imagining Agent actually making an expression when he sees his new cards. Howard’s are in much better shape than the slightly tatty set Fury had thrown across the table anyway.

By the time he’s back at the tower he’s relaxed and focussed. He buries himself immediately in the workshop, designing Fury some real security, and updating the helicarrier’s interface while he’s at it because really? All that turning? No. And that naturally leads him to some new ideas about some Apps for the latest STARKphones and STARKpads and Pepper is happy to approve his designs but only if he goes and talks to the R&D budget people himself. He is convinced this is a ploy to get him into meetings and tells her so and she unsympathetically laughs at him and hangs up. He scowls, sticks his tongue out at the phone and goes to the damn meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen

** Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended **

SI has got some other things they want him to work on. Their latest military contract, now that they are no longer involved with weapons, is for lighter weight body armour. Tony can’t help but think of the inherent value of such a thing to his team, to SHIELD as a whole. He turns up the music to wall shattering levels and throws himself in. He barely emerges except to thrust his latest prototype at whoever happens to be in the kitchen, insist that they test it as strenuously as possible and give him data and feedback and tell him what they want, grab another cup of coffee and disappear again. When he needs a break he works on his indestructible punching bag. He hasn’t created one that’s survived longer than the weekend yet, but never let it be said that Tony Stark backs away from a challenge.

One afternoon, he wakes from a nap in front of the keyboard where he’s still coding the new security protocols for Fury while his latest armour upgrade undergoes a chemical treatment. The programming is taking forever because it has to be able to run independently of JARVIS who, Tony knows, Fury won’t want in charge of his machines. He scrubs a hand over his eyes like an overtired toddler and glances around the room. “Did you enjoy your sleep sir?” JARVIS asks in a long suffering tone.

Tony opens his mouth to give a customary sarcastic reply and stops. It occurs to him he hasn’t spoken to anyone except JARVIS in...a while. “What day is it?” he asks instead.

He hears JARVIS raise a metaphorical eyebrow, “Friday the 17th sir. And it is three twenty seven in the afternoon.”

“Huh.  Where is everyone?” he asks, wondering if maybe the others want to go out for lunch. His stomach rolls lazily at the thought of food, but he knows he should eat.

“At a SHIELD meeting,” JARVIS responds.

Tony’s stomach rolls again. “How is Agent?” he asks, in a passable impersonation of casually disinterested.

“This meeting is not about Agent Coulson. It is about the Avengers Initiative.” JARVIS is toneless as he almost never is.

“The-” Tony grabs his phone, panic and adrenaline racing through his blood, but there are no missed messages on it. There’s nothing in his inbox. Other technology might lose things like that, but not Tony’s tech. Something cold unfurls, low in his belly. “Get me Happy JARVIS. We’re going to HQ. Now.”

When he strides through the door of the briefing room there is an immediate and sudden cessation of conversation. “Director,” he inclines his head with icy politeness, “Sorry, I’m late.”

“We weren’t expecting you Mr. Stark,” Rogers says.

Tony feels the cold feeling increase, but he looks around the room with mock surprise and interest, “But this _is_ an Avengers meeting? And I am an Avenger.”

“You’re _not_ an Avenger Stark. You’re a consultant,” says Fury.

There is no sound in the room at all. Tony physically rocks on his feet from the force of the blow the words deal him and fights to retain his mask. “I am an-! I flew a nuke into fucking _space_.”

Fury nods and says in the same mocking tone Howard used when Maria used to prod him to congratulate Tony on his grades, “And we’re all very proud of you. But it was never Iron Man who was unsuitable for the Initiative.”

Last time Fury said that to him, Tony had attempted to leave, furious and hurt, now, he just glances around the rest of the assembled team with mild bewilderment with eyes he hopes don’t look as broken as he feels, “But-” he starts, stops, hoists a sarcastic smile onto his lips from somewhere, “If I’m not an Avenger, why am I waiving my retaining fee for you?” he sneers. It is entirely the wrong thing to say.

“Wow Stark, you really think you can buy your way into anything don’t you? Is that what all the armour upgrades were for?”

“No! No...I was...it’s an SI project...one of my military contracts. I just thought-”

“I thought you didn’t take military contracts anymore? Or do you make weapons when you’re paid enough?”

“It’s _body armour_ Rogers. I don’t make weapons, but I do supply hard wear. You probably wouldn’t have lost so many people if you’d thought about anything other than _putting bullets in your best man’s gun_ and thought a little more about protecting your men from what _they_ were shooting at _you_.”

Rogers stands fast enough that his chair turns over, crashing to the floor. Tony’s hands are balled into fists and he’s white with anger. “Stand down Captain,” Fury interjects calmly. Rogers doesn’t sit back down, but he doesn’t take a step forward either. “And you Stark. That’s enough. This is _why_ you aren’t suitable. It’s got nothing to do with Iron Man or what you can build; it’s about you. You’re a mess. You’ve got no concept of what it’s like to be in a team, no concept of what it’s like to even respect other people who aren’t Tony Stark. You are out of control.”

“I’m not out of control,” Tony interrupts. He flushes slightly, not at the admission, but at having to justify his life in front of everyone, “I-” he grasps for an example, one that will both prove his point and embarrass Rogers. Rogers who he knows fought to get Barton instated formally onto the team when the psych department were still wavering over possible long term affects of Loki’s control, and who is watching him like he’s the fucking floor show. “I’m not fucking around.”

“I’m sure Ms. Potts will be glad to hear it.”

Tony flinches at Fury’s dry words. “We’re not together anymore,” he bites out. He’s not even looking at Fury so he doesn’t get the benefit of any flicker of surprise the man might have shown.

“And yet, the last time we had this conversation, you told me that you were in a stable relationship with her. Do you not see why this might be a problem Stark?”

Tony wants to scream. Other people break up all the time. Why is he under such scrutiny? Is anyone demanding to know if Pepper is no longer stable because she doesn’t have a man in her life? That thought does successfully quell the red tide of rising anger because, to be fair, Pepper is more stable than he’s ever been. That’s why she’s his rock. “She left me because of the risks I take as Iron Man, it had nothing to do with-” _me_ he wants to say, but his throat closes up and he can’t.

Fury makes a non committal sound of assent which makes Tony immediately wonder if he knows something Tony doesn’t. If Pepper said something to Agent maybe. If maybe he really is as fucked up as these people all seem to believe.

“I’m making you proper security for your computers.”

“You can’t buy your way into the team Stark,” Barton sneers.

Fury talks over him, “Your security isn’t suitable Stark. I know you’ll have left yourself a back door and it’s you I want to keep out. Hammer’s agreed to do it to stay out of jail.”

Hammer’s stuff is shit. Fury knows this. Fury must know this. Fury must have had a report from Natasha after the whole Whiplash debacle. “Hammer?” he questions, fighting back the thickness in his voice. He taps against the ARC reactor. He won’t cry in front of them. He won’t. _Stark men are made of Iron_ he thinks abruptly in his father’s voice, but that memory winds up with dad telling him how much lesser he is than Rogers and he closes his eyes against the thought.

“Hammer. He can be relied on to do what he is asked to do without adding his own bells and whistles. And he’s very motivated, he wants to stay out of jail, and he loves getting a contract you weren’t offered.”

“Why are you acting like this is news to you?” Rogers growls, frustration evident in his tone, “You knew you weren’t being included in the team building exercises.”

Tony hadn’t known that actually, though he supposes that does answer the question of why so little of the tower is being used. “I’ve been trying to _organise_ team stuff,” he waves a hand, “surely someone must have shown you how to work email by now, you must have seen it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, “I’m sure drinking your body weight in hard spirits sounds fun to you Tony, but some of us want to actually remember what we did the night before.”

“I...” Tony doesn’t even know what he wants to say. “I am an Avenger.”

Barton laughs, an ugly, jeering sound. “You’re our _butler_ , Stark; all you do is own the building we live in. And I know you enjoy holding it over our heads, flaunting your wealth in all our faces, buying me a sports car, making sure that there’s literally nothing we own that you can’t take back.”

“I didn’t-” Tony insists. This is spinning way out of control. He doesn’t understand how this is even happening. He blinks and his eyes feel glassy with unshed tears. “I-” He looks around the room, Rogers is still shaking with anger over his earlier salvo, but now that his own fury has bled away he feels nothing but guilty about what he said. Natasha is somehow shoulder to shoulder with Barton. He didn’t even see her move.

“You aren’t one of us,” she says when he looks at her. She sounds almost apologetic.

Tony looks over the three, standing there and then at Fury who’s looking at him steadily, sympathetically. “If you’ll excuse us Stark, we have a meeting to finish.”

Usually he’d fight, usually he’d tell them to be his guests and drop into an empty seat and ostentatiously text, usually he’d have more important places to be than here. He turns on his heel and leaves without looking back. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is specifically dedicated to Sir+Gnome+the+Giant who commented that Tony needed to cuddle up with some whiskey and his bots. I'd already written this chapter by then, so that comment made me feel a tad...guilty.

**Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended**

 

He trashes his lab. For more than an hour he’s like a wild thing, ripping apart everything in there and hurling it at everything else. JARVIS remonstrates with him, tries to stop him. He turns the music up louder and slugs back more whiskey. He’s laughing and crying and singing along and he wonders if this is what it feels like to go mad.

He wakes up a couple of days later, mouth dry and foul from alcohol and bile, shivering in the wreckage. He’s woken hung-over and feet away from his own vomit in here before, usually to DUM-E’s curious and concerned prodding. His robots aren’t anywhere near him. DUM-E does the closest he’s ever seen to a robot flinch when he levers himself into a sitting position and looks at him. Tony flinches himself at the reaction, “JARVIS?” he rasps.

“Yes sir?” JARVIS sounds crisp and professional.

Tony’s heart sinks. _What happened?_ He thinks, “What did I do?” he asks instead, eyes cast down.

“You attempted to destroy everything in this room. You did not differentiate between inanimate projects and...us.” JARVIS’ voice doesn’t change and the pause is almost unnoticeable.

“Jesus,” Tony breathes, forcing himself waveringly to his feet and looking around. “I’m...shit J, I’m sorry.” JARVIS doesn’t answer, “J? JARVIS?”

“I am here sir. What do you require?”

“J...stop... _talk to me_.” It’s a naked plea.

“My namesake would not have tolerated bodily harm sir. You cannot gift me with sentience and expect me to do less.”

“I know...I know. JARVIS, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean...” Tony’s usual gift with words fails him and he falls silent, still looking wide eyed at the remains of what is left. What can he say? That he was drunk? That he was angry? That they shouldn’t have got in his way? That it would never happen again? He never thought he would be here. Even in the worst of his drunken rages, Howard had never laid a finger on him, never so much as raised his hand to him. He wants Bruce or Pepper or Rhodey so badly he aches with it, but knows he could never face telling them what he has done here. He covers his face with a shaking hand, and sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he repeats again in a cracked voice.

JARVIS does not answer, but there is a gentle nudge at his hip and when he looks down, DUM-E has rolled up close to him. He can see that his wheels are locked in a reverse position, ready to back away, fast, at a moment’s notice. Tony’s stomach turns over at that, and he slowly crouches in front of the robot. “Hey DUM-E. You OK? Did I scare you yesterday?”

“You did more than scare him sir. You attempted to take him apart to see why nothing you tried to do worked right.”

Tony swallows. DUM-E’s a bit...well...but Tony has had plenty of opportunities to fix him and he’s never taken any of them because if the robot did what it was designed to do he wouldn’t be DUM-E anymore. And Dum-E isn’t as complex as JARVIS, but he does have some rudimentary understanding capabilities, and enough of what later became JARVIS’ obvious feelings, to be afraid of a drunken maniac wielding a screwdriver over him. “’M sorry,” he mumbles again, to DUM-E this time. He carefully pets the strut that makes up most of DUM-E’s body. “You should have knocked me out J.”

“I could not.” He sounds frustrated.

Tony nods. “I’ll fix those protocols today. Remind me,” he instructs, still gently petting DUM-E, forehead resting against his claw.

“You would give me the ability to harm you?” JARVIS’ voice sounds peculiar but Tony can’t parse it out now.

“To stop this? Yeah of course. And you’re not going to hurt me JARVIS...not you.” His voice holds a pleading edge again.

“...No. Of course I wouldn’t sir. And we understand that this was...unintentional.” His phone chirps, but he doesn’t reach for it. “It is an Assemble call,” JARVIS announces after a moment. There is silence. Tony too exhausted and heartsick to even attempt a response. “Are you going to answer it?” the AI sounds curious.

Tony sighs. He wants nothing more than to tell Rogers to stuff it. His head hurts and he has things to do here, important things, and they don’t really want him anyway. “JARVIS, blood alcohol level?”

There is a slight pause, and then JARVIS says, “Within acceptable parameters sir. You slept for almost a day.”

Tony huffs again. A day, and DUM-E had remained too afraid to go near him. “Assemble the suit,” he orders hoarsely. He’s not petty quite enough to let the others go into combat without his support because they’d hurt his feelings.

He spends the fight following orders in silence. Intently focussed on doing his job and doing his best to ignore and avoid those he is fighting beside, insides still feeling rubbed raw at their rejection. It happens in an instant. One moment the Black Widow is on the ground, carrying out a complicated looking series of punches and kicks and jumps and the next, she’s staggering backwards, hands clawing at her mid section and coming away red. She’s still standing, despite the wound, but it stirs something dark and ugly in Iron Man’s chest to look at the thing which had the audacity to draw his teammate’s blood.

He fires a repulsor blast at the creature (he’s going to commission a PSA encouraging scientists not to breed monsters in their basements) and swoops down for her. Cap and Hawkeye are already demanding to know if she’s OK, and her voice is breathless and tight but she’s not slurring her words and there’s no sound of blood bubbling in her throat. “I’m fine,” she reassures them all. “It’s a scratch.”

“That’s what you said in Budapest,” Hawkeye snarks, but his tone is edged with concern.

“JARVIS scan,” Iron Man orders, and the AI immediately feeds the medical data to his HUD. “She’s...fine-ish.” He announces to the others. “Going to need stitches, if this goes on too long blood loss might become a problem, but not deep enough for organ damage.”

She rolls her eyes. “See, fine.”

“Fine-ish,” Iron Man corrects her.

“OK Widow,” comes Captain America’s voice. He pauses and they can hear him grunting as he dispatches another of the creatures. “They’re vulnerable on the underside. Get up high, keep a bead on me. I’ll get them to rear up, you make the kill shot.”

“And I’ll just sit up here and sunbathe,” Hawkeye mutters, but they can all hear his relief.

“And Iron man?”

“Yeah,”

“Good save.”

Iron Man laughs tinnily and bounces another repulsor beam off Cap’s shield while it’s in the air. “Damsel in distress and all,”

“Call me a damsel again,” Black Widow jokes back, “and even that suit won’t protect you.”

“Promises promises.”

“Oh little boy. You couldn’t keep up with me.”

“Maybe, but I am willing to die in the attempt, surely that’s worth something?”

She gives an uninhibited laugh, and fires off a bullet with deadly precision and Iron Man laughs again, dropping into an unnecessarily steep dive out of sheer glee and incinerating the thing creeping up behind Cap with more stealth than one would usually credit an eight foot lizard, frog, lion hybrid.

When the battle is finished, Cap slings an arm around him and asks if he’s hurt with real concern and Hawkeye actually thanks him for getting Widow out and not letting her continue to fight hand to hand with her stomach ripped open. Fury asks him who he knows in the scientific community capable of creating creatures like that. For the first time he doesn’t extend an offer of food or other celebration and nor does anyone else. Helmet off, hangover headache still pounding vaguely behind his eyes and ignoring the disapproving looks Rogers and the agent assigned to them this week are giving him at the sight of his sallow drawn features, Tony heads home.

DUM-E, U and Butterfingers have done a great job of cleaning up the lab and though they don’t crowd around him like usual, they don’t cower or hide from him either. He praises them all effusively; relieved when JARVIS tells him he’s already placed his usual order with the best Thai place in town which means he’s forgiven. After eating he falls into a deep sleep, only to waken, panting in fear, an hour later with memories of Natasha’s blood bringing a moan of terror to his lips. “JARVIS, JARVIS, lights.” he says weakly.

The lights come on and Tony looks around to see DUM-E hovering near him, offering him an empty and indeed upside-down glass. There is a puddle of water a few feet away. He chuckles unsteadily and takes the glass. “Good job,” he sighs, because it’s the thought that counts. He sits on the edge of the workshop sofa, breathing to a count and trying to bring his pulse back under control and banish the memory of the terror that had seized him at the sight of red (so much red) on Natasha’s hands, dripping between her fingers. He swallows unsteadily. Apparently, not being wanted is not enough to make him not care.

“The body armour for SI JARVIS. What umm...survived my...”

JARVIS interrupts him before he has to find a word. “All your notes sir. And the most recent prototype is with Captain Rogers.”

Tony nods and stands. He can’t face going back to sleep anyway. “Alright, bring up the formulae...How thin do you think we can get this impervious fabric?”

“Do you know,” he says to Pepper two days later, “Natasha doesn’t actually own any of her undercover clothes?”

Pepper sighs, creating a rush of static down the phone. “Yes Tony, I did, because I am capable of asking questions that make it seem like I’m interested in other people’s lives.”

“Sounds boring. What kind of dresses does she like?”

“I know this might be hard for you to understand Tony, but people with breasts do have other topics of conversation other than men, shoes and clothes.”

“That’s true...you can talk for a considerable length of time about nail varnish.”

“I will sell your company and buy shares in tampax and vogue magazine.”

“Pepper...” he whines, “I really want to know.”

“Why?” She doesn’t sound judgemental, merely curious.

Tony’s voice brightens. The perfect opening. “Because I am a genius.”

Pepper stifles a giggle, “And this relates to you needing to know about women’s clothing because?”

“Because I have developed a body armour, impervious to everything you can think of _including_ the suit’s repulsors that looks and feels exactly like silk. And Natasha goes on these deep cover operations where she has to look like nothing more than another socialite and then gets shot at. So...” he trails off.

“Why don’t you ask her?”

Tony is glad that Pepper is on the other side of the phone line because she couldn’t fail to notice how he tenses, how his jaw ticks unhappily. He hasn’t told her that he’s not good to be an Avenger. He’s sure she isn’t the one who said something to Agent. 90% sure. 80% at least. But even so, he doesn’t want her to know that he’s so pathetic SHIELD still don’t want him even after he risked his life helping Fury defy the WSC. He hasn’t told her that the people he fights with on a weekly basis don’t want to be his friend, afraid that she, like so many others, will snigger to herself that Tony’s only friends are those he pays or those he builds. He scoffs. “I’m a genius Pepper. Geniuses don’t ask for input, they present completed masterpieces.”

Pepper, goddess amongst mere mortals as she is, does not press the issue. “We really didn’t talk extensively about dresses. But she admired my blue one. The one I bought myself for my birthday when my boss forgot.”

Tony knows exactly which one she means. He’s never forgotten the sight of Pepper in that dress, beautiful as always and evoking a desire in him to protect her when vulnerability and unease had uncharacteristically shown through her usual poise. “Why did you work for such an ass?” he asks, not joking as much as he would like her to believe.

“The money was good. Plus, career advancement, PA to CEO in 12 years.”

“Not a totally hopeless case then?”

“Not totally. Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Do not make matching underwear for the dress. No girl needs armoured panties.”

“Not even-”

“ _No_ Tony!”

He laughs, but accepts Pepper’s judgement on this matter. “Shawl? That dress has quite a big dip at the back. Even _my_ body armour only works over an area it’s covering.”

“Yes. Can you do colours?”

“Can I do...of course I can. I’m a-”

“Genius. I know. White then. Not a metallic colour because that limits the kind of jewellery you can wear.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Oh and...Tony, I have a call on the other line. Can I call you back?”

“Yeah sure. I warn you, I’m building though so...”

He can hear her roll her eyes, “Please sleep and eat. JARVIS?”

“Yes Ms Potts,” JARVIS sounds amused, “I will endeavour to make him.”

“You like her more than me,” Tony mutters, but with no real rancour.

Pepper laughs again. “Bye.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen

**Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended**

 

A little known fact about Tony Stark is that he enjoys dreadful, clichéd spy movies. Which is why he doesn’t stop at the armoured dress and shawl. He goes on to created classy stiletto shoes which a twitch of the toes can flick blades out of the soles, and the heels unscrew to form a pair of perfectly weighted throwing knives. Pulling the seam over the toes will unravel the stockings to create one long rope which will take the weight of a bus and is twenty seven metres. He orders a normal Louis Vuitton purse and fills it with a pair of lipsticks, one as a sealant to protect Natasha and the other as a poison which guarantees incapacitation fifteen seconds after a kiss, however chaste (yes, he likes Firefly too, Joss Whedon is welcome to try and sue him), a perfume which is another sleeping gas, a face cream which is actually an acid that will melt anything Tony can find. There’s also a necklace, the pendant of which broadcasts a continuous locator signal.

Natasha isn’t in when he rings the bell at the front door of her suite. “Agent Romanov left to go to SHIELD medical and say goodbye to Agent Coulson before her mission tomorrow.” JARVIS says without prompting.

Tony slumps slightly. He was really looking forward to showing Natasha what he had created, bragging about how safe it would keep her. She at least had looked apologetic for the debacle the last time he had been at SHIELD, of all of them she is the most likely to understand that this has nothing to do with wanting to be an Avenger and everything to do with the fact that he still wakes from dreams dripping with her blood. Barton, after all, sent his last quiver of new and improved arrows (based on the feedback the Agent had given him) and disc of new shooting programmes back, unopened and with a terse explanation that SHIELD R&D made all of his weaponry and that, because it was their job, he didn’t have to worry about them unexpectedly demanding something in return. It had nearly sent him diving for the bar, but the memory of DUM-E’s uncharacteristic avoidance and JARVIS’ cold logical anger haunted nearly as many dreams as Natasha’s blood.

He hadn’t managed to muster up the courage to make anything for Rogers in weeks. The best he had been able to do was to legally sign the tower over to the Avengers. They’re his team even if they don’t consider him one of theirs, and the job is a dangerous one. If he should die in action or something, he doesn’t want SI throwing them out. He hasn’t even told Rogers he’s done so, (yes, he’s aware that means it’s a sort of pointless gift too). He had done so to try and set Rogers’ mind at rest, the man probably has backup plan after backup plan of ideas for what to do in that event so his people don’t abruptly end up homeless, and he worries about _everything_. But he still hasn’t managed to mention it, too afraid that they’ll kick him out of the Avengers entirely if he tells them that they no longer need him if they want to keep their living space.

He clutches the box he’s packed Natasha’s stuff into tightly to his chest and considers taking it back downstairs. But he has a Maria Stark Foundation Gala to get ready for, and he’s the keynotes speaker. If he’s late Pepper will murder him and use his severed head as a warning for all SI interns and besides he’s trying to prove to Fury that he can be responsible and capable and not the person he seemed when he was _dying_ , even if he refuses to acknowledge that motivation, and that means, for once, being on time. He really does want Natasha to have this. Wants to know that she’s as safe as he can make her when he’s not there to airlift her out of danger when she bleeds.

“JARVIS? When does Natasha leave?”

“I do not have that information sir.” The AI sounds almost regretful, “However, her conversation with Agent Barton in the communal kitchen this morning indicates that it is sometime this evening, and that she will be returning only briefly from her visit with Agent Coulson.”

Probably to pick up the bag which is already doubtless packed in her quarters. Tony signs and places the box in front of the door; he’d rather she had it than he had the opportunity to show off. “You can explain all of this if I’m not here, right J?”

“Indeed sir. I have worked on this nearly as much as you.”

“I’ll put you down as co-designer on the patent form.” He digs in his pocket and unearths a stub of pencil which he sometimes uses to make a mark on a material he’s just measured and scrawls, “Ask JARVIS for details,” on the box.

He’s feeling good when he rolls in from the gala. He’s not drunk, still doesn’t trust himself, but he’s been drinking, he hasn’t brought anyone home because he didn’t want to, not interested in empty hours of sex after what he had with Pepper, so Fury won’t be able to throw that at him. It’s been a good night. Things weren’t weird between him and Pepper, even when they danced and he gave Natasha her present. He’s slightly surprised to see Rogers and Barton waiting for him outside his own rooms, but he just grins. He knows why they’re here. “I take commissions,” he says, or starts to say, but his words are cut off as Barton lands a powerful right cross on his jaw.

Already unsteady he goes sprawling. His hands come up to defend himself and he barks out, “JARVIS, deep medical scan.” He bounces back to his feet and backs up, putting some space between him and them until he knows what he’s dealing with. Barton is one thing, but Rogers is powerful enough to kill him with ease if he’s been compromised in some way.

“No foreign substances in the blood,” JARVIS’ voice comes back, cool and crisp, “brainwave patterns are normal. There were no guests in the tower today, nor did either Captain Rogers or Agent Barton receive or make any phone calls to any previously unknown persons. Recommend non lethal force.”

Barton is still standing, fists clenched, and looking seconds away from throwing himself at Tony again. “There’s nothing wrong with _us_ , it’s you!” Rogers says. His voice is tight with anger and his eyes are dark.

Tony keeps his hands up and speaks soothingly, “I don’t know what’s going on Cap, or who’s got to you, and I know this probably seems logical to you right now, but you don’t want to hurt me. I need you to believe me OK? I’m going to call Fury...get you two into medical for a proper examination,” Barton growls in his throat and Tony starts and the animalistic viciousness of the sound. “You don’t want to hurt me,” he insists again. “If you really think about it you know that. I know you don’t...don’t like me, but we fight together, you don’t want to do this.”

“You really think after what you did to Natasha we don’t want to hurt you?” Barton snarls.

“Natasha? I haven’t even _seen_ Natasha in days. Whatever you think you remember isn’t...someone’s messing with your minds. Natasha’s fine...well...I think she’s fine. She’s on a mission, I haven’t done anything to her, I swear OK. Just talk to Fury.”

“You haven’t-” Barton steps forward, and Tony’s arms come down from their non threatening raised position, forming fists. He doesn’t want to hurt Barton, but cognitive recalibration worked before and he’s willing to punch him to protect him from knowing he’d inadvertently brought about the death of another person who didn’t deserve it.

Rogers steps forward, putting a hand on Barton’s shoulder and pulling him back. Barton growls again, but lets him and Tony raises his eyes to Rogers’, relieved that the super soldier is at least listening to him and prepared to explain any questions Rogers has. His mind is racing, wondering how this could have happened, inside his own tower, without JARVIS’ knowledge. That takes some serious skill and is, all in all, not a situation Tony is in any way happy with. “I should let him,” Rogers' voice is dark, “If anyone deserves a beating it’s you Stark.”

Tony shakes his head and keeps the soothing tone, “I don’t know what-”

“Enough!” The command is sharp. “You know what you did...soliciting Agent Romanov for...for...relations.”

“What?” Tony laughs with sheer surprise, “What are you talking about?”

“The dress, the _stockings_! You disgust me Stark!”

“It’s not _like that_. It’s...The dress was just...”

“We all know what the dress was _just_ ,” Barton breaks in, spitting the words, his face clenched with anger. “She told me how you harassed her when you thought she was Natalie Rushman too!” he makes a noise that might have once been a chuckle, “I thought you’d have more self preservation than to sexually harass the Black Widow. That takes balls Stark, it really does. But then, your file says that you’re self destructive.”

There are any number of things Tony could say to that. “I never _touched_ her when I thought she was Natalie,” he insists, “I-” _I was trying to make Pepper jealous because I didn’t know how else to tell her I loved her_ he thinks, but that is too personal to voice. “It was just a joke.”

“You know who thinks things like harassing a lady are jokes Stark? Bullies.”

Tony’s gaze snaps back to Rogers. “I’m not harassing her. And even if I was...she’s the Black Widow, surely,” he tilts his chin up, fury putting a sneer on his face, “she doesn’t need you two upstanding gentlemen to fight her battles for her.”

Barton laughs again. It sounds like a file being dragged over metal. Tony winces at the noise. “Oh I’m doing you a favour Stark. I could have left you for her.”

“You should have. Natasha might at least have listened to me. Did you even follow the instruction on the box? Did you even ask JARVIS-?”

“Ask your robot where you expected her to meet you, dressed up for your pleasure Stark? I know what Natasha sometimes has to do in the line of duty but she’s not _whore to be bought_!”

“That’s not...You know what, I don’t care. That’s what you want to think of me fine, I’m done. I don’t have to justify myself to you. I’m Tony fucking Stark. I don’t need you to like me.”

“That’s what this was?” Rogers at least looks appalled instead of angry, though Tony isn’t actually sure if that’s an improvement. “You were trying to get her to _like_ you.”

“Guess that makes you the whore Stark,” Barton jeers, “when money doesn’t work, you try sex?”

A leer is abruptly pasted on to Tony’s face, “Never had any complaints, and my little black book is full of satisfied ladies desperate for me to put a ring on their finger.”

“Is that why daddy didn’t love you? Because he didn’t want little boys?”

Tony whitens, “That’s enough,” Rogers snaps and for a second Tony thinks he’s seen the hurt Tony’s masking beneath vicious sarcasm and has realised that there is something he’s missing. But he’s not looking at Tony, he’s glaring at Barton. “Howard was my friend,” he says, not snarling but definitely warning, “Don’t...don’t Clint. That’s not...Just no.”

Barton bows his head briefly in understanding, but when his face comes back up it’s still wearing the same mocking smirk.

“At least that puts him a cut above your father Barton,” Tony says. It’s unforgivably cruel, but he can’t bear what the next salvo out of Barton’s mouth might be. You can’t win a fight on the defence, Happy once told him when he was first learning to box, you can only win with an attack.

Barton lunges forward and this time Rogers doesn’t even try to stop him. Tony fends him off as best as he can, but he’s too angry to do anything other than swing wildly and a lucky blow of Barton’s cracks his head off a doorjamb, creating a wound which bleeds sluggishly, both obscuring his vision and slowing his reactions.

“That is quite enough,” JARVIS’ voice cracks across the open intercom. “I am authorised to use a non fatal sleeping gas to subdue you should this altercation continue.”

Barton rips himself away from Tony, still growling low in his throat. “I guess a pretty little rich boy like you always needs someone else to fight his battles for him huh Stark.”

Tony’s pride rears its head and he uses the back of his hand to wipe the trickle of blood on his forehead way, teeth bared in his own snarl, “Cancel protocol, codeword Omega 56Y7 JARVIS. Let’s get this finished.”

“Sir...I don’t think-”

“ _Cancel_ it JARVIS.”

“That protocol has no overrides.” JARVIS sounds smug, “It is designed for me to protect the inhabitants of this tower, including myself, from you.”

Tony throws back his head and lets out a primal scream. “ _Cancel. It._ That protocol is for necessities only and this is not necessary. I want this. I’m choosing this.”

“No!”

“Aww what’s the matter Rogers? I thought you wanted to see what I was out of the suit.”

Rogers raises a condescending eyebrow at him. “You can’t take Clint, and I won’t have him responsible for another needless death.”

Barton growls once more and wrenches himself away, “Alright, yeah. We’re done.”

“Coward,” Tony taunts, “Come back here if you think you could really kill me so easily.”

Barton half turns, but Rogers grabs his shoulder, “He’s not worth it.”

That takes the fight out of Tony like nothing else could have managed. He’s not worth it, at least now he knows.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen

**Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended**

 

The fight at least has the advantage of making sure than any lingering misgivings from JARVIS and the other bots over Tony’s drunken actions last week are entirely forgotten. JARVIS is furious on Tony’s behalf. Tony suspects he is, for lack of a better word, trolling the others, but until they come to him to complain he doesn’t care. He lacks the energy to fight with JARVIS as well as with everyone else.

He withdraws into himself and works with the kind of desperation edged focus he hasn’t felt since he was still young enough to believe that if he could just invent something good enough, his dad would look at him. He can’t resist making new and better weapons and armour for the others, even if he knows they’ll never take them from him now. He fills a small cabinet with his prototypes. A holographic version of Rogers’ SHIELD – it’s not quite as strong as vibranium, but it’s not completely useless – and it springs up at the push of a button on a watch, the perfect substitute for situations when he’s more Steve Rogers than Captain America and suddenly finds that he needs it unexpectedly, a quiver with its own rappelling line and grapple attachment so Barton doesn’t need to waste an arrow, a flame thrower shaped like a mascara wand, because he still loves tacky spy movies and Natasha could use these things.

He doesn’t call Pepper or Bruce. They’ll ask too many questions he can’t answer. He doesn’t want to have to tell them what he said to Barton and just how badly he’s fucked this up. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the relieved look in Rogers’ eyes when he had woken up to Hulk’s roar after the bomb and now…Auntie Peggy used to tell him stories, far past the age when it was acceptable for him to ask for a bedtime story, she used to come into his room every night when she was visiting and talk to him. She once told him that Rogers had time for everyone, was nice to _everyone_ , nauseatingly so, she had said with a delighted yet wistful laugh, the emotions behind which he hadn’t understood until long after. When you disappointed Captain America, when Steve Rogers would no longer give you a second chance, that was when you knew you were no longer saveable. Tony knows even a lifetime as Iron Man can never atone for the blood soaked money that made his family’s fortune, but he has never felt that as keenly as he does now.

JARVIS keeps him company, his dry sarcastic wit often the only sound in the workshop as Tony works in determined silence. “What do you think J?” he says tiredly, scrolling through the lines of exquisite coding in the security protection he has finished designing for Fury even though he was going with Hammer tech. It was bound to fail, at least this way he’d have something ready to go if the situation was desperate. Maybe he could convince Bruce to claim he’d developed it.

“I think you should stop designing and creating things for people who can’t even muster the good manners to thank you,” the AI sniffs archly.

Tony really doesn’t have it in him to argue the point, and he knows it’s pathetic, that it is trying to buy their affections. This pitiful puppy dog creating them better and better toys as if that will make them stop looking at him like he’s beneath even their contempt. “You’re probably right,” he sighs, transferring the code to a simple USB and adding it to the cabinet with everything else. He stops for a moment, feeling old and tired and scraped raw. He rests his hands on the table, head bowed between his shoulders. He wants the bourbon he knows is still in his drawer, but the thought of what he had done last time he felt like this...no. Just no. Never again. He sucks in a breath and straightens, even when there is no one to see them Stark men don’t show weakness. “JARVIS. Pull up the SI projects. Let’s find something to do.”

He has successfully ensconced himself in engineering-land, brain busy with half a dozen projects, all with looming deadlines since he’d wasted so many weeks producing unused Avengers kit, and it simply does not occur to him that there is any reason why he shouldn’t venture upstairs to make himself another cup of coffee and eat something more substantial than candy bars until he’s standing across the kitchen looking uncertainly at Rogers. He shrugs and forces himself to walk across the room. It’s his building...well, sort of, he’s not going to be the one to run away.

Rogers watches him and he can feel a self conscious blush prickling at the back of his neck as he pours a mug of steaming caffeine. He wills it away. He hasn’t blushed since he was in twelve. “I heard Howard ended up with most of my stuff, after I...after,” Rogers breaks the silence by saying.

Tony does not jerk in surprise but it’s a close thing. “I...yeah. Yeah I guess, he has a few things.”

Rogers looks down at the table, hands clenched around his own mug and jaw tight. “Would you find it for me? I’d like it back.”  

“I’ve got kind of a lot going on,” Tony hedges. He hates rooting through dad’s stuff, all it does is make him unhappy and edgy, and it’s not like he’d deny Rogers things that are rightfully his but he’d like to be able to do it in his own time, when he’s ready.

The Steve Rogers Auntie Peggy had talked about with such a fond smile and a light in her eyes would have smiled easily and said, “Yeah sure, no rush.”

“Look Stark,” Rogers sighs with barely concealed disdain, “I know you’ve probably never had to do a hard day’s work in your life but this is important.”

Tony should tell him where to stick it. He’s never been anybody’s doormat. He’s Tony Stark. He’s loud, obnoxious and does what he pleases when he pleases. He drops his head under the blue eyed scrutiny. “Dad’s archives are at the Malibu house. I’ve got a meeting in California next week. I’ll look your stuff out then OK?”

“Thank you,” Rogers says stiffly.

“You uh...you want anything else? Or just the stuff that was actually yours?”

He looks honestly confused, “What else is there?”

Tony shrugs, “Not really sure. I wasn’t really allowed to...and then I was too old...” he’s babbling. He cuts himself off and focuses on answering the question, “Uh...there’s merchandise, obviously. The kind of stuff Agent would love, and I’m sure dad got hold of some of the personal effects of the Commandos.”

Steve looks at him for a long time, but for the first time, his eyes are clear of censure. “I...no. Just my stuff is fine. Thanks.” His voice is, perhaps, a few degrees warmer.

“You want another cup of...whatever you’re drinking?” Tony offers tentatively.

Rogers nods slowly. “OK. Coffee, cream and sugar please.”

Tony does not mock him for the addition of cream. He moves across to the coffee machine and makes up another mug, slowly stirring the sugar in with hands he has to will not to shake. It occurs to him abruptly that he’s being ridiculous. He’s never been what anyone could ever have called insecure, and he has interpersonal skills, of course he has interpersonal skills. He’s charming, he’s been told so hundreds of thousands of times. He can make people like him, and all he needs is to get Rogers to listen to him for five minutes, he can explain about the dress, explain about the whole hacking Barton and Natasha’s files...he just needs five minutes. He favours the man with a dazzling smile as he slides the mug across the table to him and drops into the closest seat.

Rogers looks surprised, but surprise is good, surprise means he’s re-evaluating misconceptions. Tony holds his gaze as the man takes a sip of his drink. “It’s good.”

“Glad you like it,” Tony puts a hand on his arm, leaning in more closely so their knees touch. Rogers is warmer than human norm, must be the super soldier metabolism, and he can’t help but clench his fingers a little more tightly on the bare skin under the white SHIELD T-shirt, where he is holding onto Rogers’ forearm, unconsciously seeking the warmth. “Listen Cap,” he starts and stops abruptly when Rogers flings himself backwards out of his chair. The coffee falls to the floor in a spreading brown puddle, the mug shattering into fragments with a loud sound.

The disgust is back in Rogers’ eyes, but Tony can only gape at him, opening and shutting his mouth like a particularly stupid fish, with no idea of what has changed from the hesitant, but definitely present, thawing of hostilities from just a moment ago. Rogers laughs derisively and drags a hand through his blond hair, mussing it and making it stand on end. “There’s really nothing you won’t stoop to is there Stark?”

“I...what?” Tony says blankly.

“You really think you can sleep your way onto the team? With _me_!”

Tony can only blink. “ _What_?”

“You...you were,” Rogers makes an elaborate hand gesture. He looks like he’s imitating a one armed octopus.

Tony laughs bitterly. “You don’t think much of me do you Rogers?”

“I’ve seen the videos. I wanted to give you a chance, asked Hill if maybe she was being a bit hard on you and she told me that you couldn’t be trusted. And I’ve seen the videos, of you doing... _things_. With guys and dames,” he sounds scandalised and Tony wonders vaguely if anyone has given Rogers a cultural sensitivity talk since he woke up, “and the others. What you said to those senators-” he shakes his head, apparently unable to even articulate his feelings at calling senators of the United States government assclowns.

“They deserved it,” Tony interjects mulishly.

Rogers just _looks_ at him, but says nothing more on that subject and instead continues, “I read the reports of you, drunk, in your suit, firing repulsors at anything people threw into the air. Colonel Rhodes had to physically force you to stand down.”

Tony doesn’t remember that night. Not really. “I was _dying_ ,” he spits. “I was-”

“I spent half my childhood dying. I never put anyone else at risk.”

Tony turns his face away. “I’m paying for it now,” he says softly.

Rogers shakes his head. “Is this the first time you’ve ever been denied something? Is that why you’re being so childish?”

That brings Tony’s head back up. He’s been the model of maturity. “I’m not being _childish_.”

Rogers rolls his eyes. “You’re right, essential maintenance work which takes out the whole entertainment system is so mature, making sure Clint’s authorisation code isn’t accepted on the range, _accidentally_ ordering only light weight punching bags, fire alarms going off on the upper levels every forty minutes last night. Everything Natasha owns is coated with fire suppression foam.”

“I didn’t!” Tony insists, “JARVIS-” he stops. He’s never admitted just how much autonomy JARVIS has for a reason. He knows what the world will do, out of sheer fear, to a fully cognizant AI. If Rogers repeats this conversation to Barton or Natasha, if one of them reports to SHIELD... “Alright,” he grits out. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”

Rogers shakes his head and leaves, skirting Tony by the doorway like he thinks Tony’s going to jump on him and start grinding into him or something. Tony leers at him as he passes, overtly raking his eyes up and down the super soldier’s body just to make him blush. It gives him a vindictive satisfaction.

The kitchen is quiet for a long a moment, and then JARVIS, more subdued than normal says, “I am sorry sir. I have restored normal functioning to all systems and placed Captain Rogers’ usual order.”

“It’s not your fault J. You were just looking out for me.”

“I have made things more difficult for you. And you did not have to-”

“Yes, I did. We’ve talked about this. There’s a reason I haven’t patented you JARVIS. I don’t want you being...dissected. “I need you J, OK?”

There is a silence, “And I you sir.”

Tony blushes slightly and gives a jerky nod.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen

**** Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended

Rhodey picks up on the second ring. “What’s up Sugarplum?” Tony greets with false cheer.

“The sky,” Rhodey responds out of habit and then immediately follows with, “What’s wrong?” and Tony wrinkles his nose in disgust at Rhodey’s perceptiveness.

“Wrong? I never said anything was wrong.”

“You never ring me at this time of night when you’re still sober.”

“Night?” Tony glances at his watch. Huh, 3 am. He hadn’t realised it had gotten so late. “Oh yeah. Sorry. I was working on a-”

“Wait, Tony! Did you just _apologise_? Wow, having Captain America as a house guest has finally taught you some manners.”

Tony flinches and bites deep enough into his cheek to fill his mouth with blood to stop himself from saying what he’s thinking about Captain fucking America. He knows Captain America is the reason Rhodey went into the forces, even though getting the man to admit it is the devil’s own job, and he isn’t going to take his hero away from him. It’s hardly Rhodey’s fault that Tony’s so worthless even Captain America won’t give him the time of day. It’s not as though he’s wrong. He forces a laugh of agreement. “I guess. Listen. Cupcake. I just had a question for you.”

“No.”

“What?”

“The only time you ever ask me anything in that tone of voice is when you want me to do something that could get me Court Martialled or arrested, usually both.”

Tony presses his lids shut against the tears he can feel heating his eyes. He _knows_ Rhodey is joking, he does, but it’s still hard to hear yet another person refusing him. “Rhodey,” he says softly, “please.”

That effectively takes any levity out of Rhodey’s voice. “What’s wrong?” he sounds military crisp now. “Where are you?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, no. I’m fine. I just...I wanted to ask you something.”

“You can ask me anything.”

“I...Rhodey...how...howdoyoumakepeoplelikeyou?” He forces the words out in a rush.

“Again Tony,” Rhodey prods, “slower OK?”

Tony bristles, “Don’t talk to me like that! I’m not...I’m not...”

“I know. I know you’re not,” and the great thing is that Rhodey does know, even when Tony doesn’t know what he wanted to say. “But I need you to slow down.”

“How do make people like you?” he mutters. He’s never been so humiliated in his whole life.

“Why?” Rhodey asks, soft and deliberate.

Tony flinches. “Don’t be angry with me,” he responds, unthinkingly, “Don’t. I know I’m...I know. I’m trying to fix it OK. Please.”

“I’m not angry with you,” Rhodey soothes, “but I want to know what has brought this on. You’ve never changed for anybody. Why now?”

Tony doesn’t know how to answer that, doesn’t want to tell Rhodey about how badly he’s screwed this sideways. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat. “Because Rogers thought I was hitting on him today and I was trying to be nice,” he says, trying to sound indignant. This is potentially a funny story.

Rhodey is not distracted. “Today? But you’ve lived together for weeks.”

“Yeah...we don’t really...y’know talk.”

“How? You’re the Avengers, surely you-”

“I,” Tony forces haughty condescension into his voice, “am not an Avenger. I’m a _consultant_.”

“What?” Rhodey demands.

Tony flinches again. “Sorry,” he repeats.

Rhodey breathes out, a gusty sigh. “I’m coming over.”

“You don’t need to-”

“I’m coming. Over.”

“Alright.”

“I won’t be long.”

“Yeah.”

“Tony, this is not to avoid answering your question. I promise OK.”

Tony nods, and then realises Rhodey can’t see. “Alright. Thanks.”

“I’m on my way.”

He goes upstairs to wait. He still has enough self respect not to want Rhodey to find him obviously hiding in his workshop. Barton and Rogers are both there, he’s slightly surprised to see them, it being the middle of the night and all, but super-heroing doesn’t exactly allow for regular hours. He makes himself a coffee and tucks himself into a corner with his STARKpad and taps absently away at half-hearted designs for a new model of defibrillator. Bruce had mentioned needing one. He pulls his knees up far enough that his ARC reactor is at least somewhat protected from the hostile glances he can feel them shooting his way and feigns ignorance, or at least indifference.

They whisper amongst themselves. Tony can feel his shoulders wincing tighter and tighter together, but he doesn’t look up, determinedly keeps his gaze on his schematics. He is however, forced to tilt his head up when he finds Barton towering over him, Rogers watching from the far side of the room. “Problem Buttercup?” he sneers, painfully aware of his less-than-advantageous position.

Barton drops a piece of crumples card on him. Not taking his eyes from the furious archer, Tony reaches for it. It’s a simple gift card. _To Phil, Get Well Soon, All the Best, Tony & Pepper. _“Phil kept the cards,” Barton sounds disappointed, “but that doesn’t make this acceptable Stark. You’ve been told that you can’t _buy_ us.”

“Well apparently I can, since Agent kept the gift. Jealous that whatever wilting flowers you brought him didn’t make his eyes light up Barton?”

Barton narrows his eyes and leans down to where Tony is curled on the sofa. His strong arms bracket him, trapping him where he sits, “It’s pathetic Stark, that you think you can do things like this. You don’t even know his name. You had your secretary send him your-”

Tony stands, STARKpad falling forgotten to the floor, and uses his momentum to push Barton back. “That’s enough,” he says forcefully, “You can say whatever you want about me, but you don’t talk about Pepper like that. She’s worth a dozen of you, and she’s not my secretary.”

“You were told not to go near him,” Barton argues, changing tack abruptly, “That includes gifts Stark.”

Tony widens his sneer. “As you pointed out, I didn’t send this. And Agent and Pepper are friends.” There’s a flicker of something indefinable on Barton’s face. “Didn’t know that? Didn’t he mention her? I guess beautiful red heads are his type Barton, and even if they weren’t it’s not like someone like you would have a chance. Maybe he’s fucking Natasha too.”

“Shut your mouth,” Barton snaps and suddenly Rogers is in between them.

“I’ve had just about enough of you,” he says, glaring down at Tony. “You are everything repugnant about this century Stark, materialistic, hedonistic, willing to do anything to gratify yourself, regardless of the cost to others. You don’t know the meaning of duty or honour. You’ve never had to work for anything a day in your life. Everything you’ve ever wanted has been handed to you on a silver platter and when you’re denied something,” he pauses, laughs breathlessly, “you turn into a bratty child. You’ve spent the last few weeks throwing the kind of tantrums I wouldn’t tolerate from a four year old, and you demean everyone around you by assuming that we will take your bribes, or can be bought with your body. Just because you...you slut around-”

There’s a presence suddenly behind Tony, and he recoils instinctively, but the blow sails cleanly over his shoulder and impacts squarely on Rogers’ jaw. Rogers doesn’t fall back, no normal human could hit him hard enough with bare fists to make him do that, but he does stop talking, teeth snapping together with a click. The room freezes, frozen in tableau. Tony turns around, eyes wide and dark. Rhodey doesn’t meet his gaze, doesn’t look at him, he’s too busy trying to stare Rogers into the ground. “How _dare_ you,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Rogers answers icily, one hand coming up to massage his jaw, “who are you? And why are you in my house?”

“This is _Tony’s_ house and I’m here as his guest,” Rhodey answer.

“Actually,” Tony interjects, throwing caution to the wind. If they want to throw him out of the Avengers they can, he’s done with this shit, he’s just...done, “it is his house. I signed the tower over to the Avengers a fortnight ago, so that they could continue living here rent free if I died.”

Three pairs of eyes snap to him, “You never said that,” Rogers says distrustfully.

Tony shrugs. He’s done with this, but he’s not about to admit why he never said anything either. He’s pathetic enough having Rhodey here to fight his battles for him, he’s not admitting to anything he doesn’t have to. Rhodey is giving him a far too understanding expression out of the corner of his eye. Tony looks away.

Rhodey turns his attention away from Tony, fixing a disappointed, disbelieving look on Rogers. “You know, I went into the military because of you. You were everything I wanted to be. My little brother and I spent half our childhoods pretending to be Captain America and Bucky Barnes. I wanted to _be_ you so much.” Rogers starts to say something but the glare Rhodey fixes on him silences him effectively, and Rhodey continues, “That you cheated your way into the army because you didn’t like bullies was legend Captain. And now I find out you are one.”

“I’m not-” Rogers starts hotly.

“I’m sorry,” Rhodey favours him with a twisted smile, “what would _you_ call someone who continually ridicules another person’s friendship overtures?”

“Stark’s not-”

“ _Tony_ has been nothing but nice to you. He invited you into his home, hell, he _gave you_ his home, if I know anything about him he’s done nothing but shower you with new toys.”

“Oh yes,” Barton sneers, “in between sexually harassing everyone except me.”

“Tony?” Rhodey turns to him for an explanation. His tone is still firm, but Tony could weep with gratitude just for being given the chance to explain. These are all his mistakes, but he meant them well.

“I...Cap thought I was hitting on him. I wasn’t,” he speaks just to Rhodey, “I...I don’t know. I fucked up.”

Rhodey gives him a look which tells him they’ll be talking more about this when they don’t have an audience and then Barton interrupts, “Let’s assume that’s true Stark. What about Natasha?”

Tony laughs hollowly, “The dress yeah? That’s what you’re pissed about?”

“Yeah Stark, _the dress_.”

“Dress Tony?”

Tony swallows dryly and looks at the floor this time as he mutters, “I made it. It was an SI project, body armour that could be worn as normal clothes. I thought...I thought a body armour dress would be something Natasha could use. Everything else was just...I got over excited, kept making stupid spy gizmos.”

He falls silent, but this time Rhodey won’t let him, “What gizmos?”

Tony closes his eyes in shame and admits in a low voice, “The stockings unravel to form a rope, everything in the purse is for sabotage, poisons, acid. The shoes have knives in the soles.” Rhodey snorts and Tony cracks a small smile. “I know. I know. But I was on a roll by then, I couldn’t resist.”

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything?” Rogers sounds aghast.

“I had a thing to go to that night, and she was leaving on her mission. I wanted her to have it. That’s why I wrote on the box to ask JARVIS, he’d have talked her through it. I didn’t...didn’t mean...”

“It’s OK,” Rhodey soothes gently. “What else?” he asks, voice hardening as he turns back to the others.

“You kept...giving us stuff,” Barton says, his voice has lost the aggressive edge Tony is used to hearing now.

It’s Rhodey that answers, “That’s just Tony. That’s just what he does for people he likes. Something you’d have found out if you’d bothered to spend any time with him.”

“We thought...”

“I know what you thought,” Rhodey smiles coldly, “not everyone is as shallow as you Agent Barton. Some people like to just give things.”

That riles Barton once more and he musters another attack, “You hacked our files.”

Tony shrugs again. “What I said about your family obviously really hurt you. I wanted to make sure I didn’t tread on any other sore spots. Agent already gave me the files anyway; I just didn’t have time to read them before, what with Loki and everything.”

“And _that_. His name is Phil, or Agent _Coulson_.”

Tony meets his eyes with a hard glare of his own. “I know. It’s an inside joke.”

“You have inside jokes with Phil?”

“He used to be my babysitter.”

No one says anything for a second. “If that’ll be all gentlemen?” Rhodey says, favouring them all with another sweeping glare and prodding Tony forwards and towards the door. “Come on, Tony. Show me what you’ve been working on.”

Tony nods, drained, and follows Rhodey, more passive than he’s ever been. He catches the other man sending him worried glances, but he doesn’t say anything, exhausted in mind and body. They get down into the workshop and Tony sinks into the chair in front of one of his many computer screens. “Thanks you know, for coming. You didn’t have to...”

“Shut up,” Rhodey says fondly.

“Hmmmm,” Tony agrees, he’s so tired. “Is that it then?” he opens his eyes wide, “Do they like me now?”

Rhodey’s heart aches. “Tony...why do you want to be friends with people like that? People who couldn’t be bothered to even try and understand you?”

Tony just looks at him. “They’re my team,” he says simply, “’S like what you told me about everyone wearing the same uniform as you.”

Rhodey doesn’t think it is, but he nods anyway because Tony’s trust issues have issues and it’s painfully obvious to him that the other Avengers don’t deserve a second of his time, but if Tony’s willing to give them another chance...that has to be worth something. He flexes his hand and hisses slightly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t a nothing sound. What is it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Then let me see.”

Rhodey huffs and holds out his hand, Tony’s calloused fingers skim carefully over his skin. “A couple of these fingers are broken,” a smirk spreads across his features, “I can’t believe you broke your hand on Captain America’s face.”

“I can’t believe I did it defending your honour. You’re not grateful at all.”

Tony fans himself with one hand and puts on a ridiculous southern accent, “Oh you handsome man, comin’ to rescue li’l ol’ me. I dun declare I got the vapours.”

Rhodey laughs and pushes him in the shoulder. Tony gets up to find the first aid kit. It gets far too much use, he’s always doing stupid things to himself, but there’s still tape in it. He settles back down and starts carefully taping Rhodey’s fingers, to hold them in place where at least he won’t suffer any further damage until he can get them properly looked at. “So tell me about accidentally hitting on Rogers.”

Tony tenses, but he can’t refuse Rhodey this, not after everything the other has done for him tonight. “I was...I can make people like me Rhodey,” he says defensively.

“Of course you can.”

“I mean, I always have people dripping off me at parties, and galas and whatever and just because I don’t want to talk to them doesn’t mean...”

Rhodey is beginning to see where this is going, “So you used the same interpersonal skills on Rogers?”

Tony shrugs and doesn’t look up.

“Tony...there’s a difference between seduction techniques and making friends.”

“Well I know that _now_.”

“How did you make friends with me?”

“I flirted outrageously with you and bought you a car and agreed to make bombs for your superiors.” The words are bitter.

“Tony, no. That’s not...you made me laugh.”

Tony looks up at him in surprise, “Really?”

“Really. Can’t imagine how, your sense of humour is dreadful. But still.”

Tony gives him a soft smile and finishes with his hand. “All done, unless you want me to kiss it better?”

“I’d rather not; I know where you’ve been.”

They fall into an easy silence. “You should have told one of us Tony,” Rhodey says eventually. “You should have told me or Pepper that this was happening.”

“My poor fragile pride is already mortally wounded Rhodey, I don’t think it’d have survived telling everyone that I was so fucking worthless Captain America wouldn’t invite me to his bonding exercises, that flying a nuke into space doesn’t guarantee you a place with the Avengers.”

Rhodey shakes his head. “This is fucked up.”

“I know I am.”

“ _That_ is not what I said. God, you really should never meet your heroes huh?”

“Don’t be like that Rhodey, he’s a good guy. He just...doesn’t like me, but that’s true of half the population. I need a drink. You want a drink?”

“Sure.”

Tony stands and digs out the bourbon, he eyes Rhodey with narrow eyed panic. “You’ll stay.”

“Yeah.”

“You promise?”

“Of course Tony. What-?”

“Last time...” Tony takes a deep breath and admits in a rush, “Last time I was upset and I got drunk down here, I hurt DUM-E.”

“What? Tony you would never-!”

“I _did_. I took a screwdriver to him, ready to strip out what made him DUM-E and make him work. I...” self loathing curls through him, hot and sharp. “I frightened him. I _hurt_ him.”

Rhodey shakes his head; he doesn’t know what to say. He’s seen Tony in every stage of being drunk, but he’s never seen him even contemplate going for his ‘bots. He loves them like his children. He takes a slug of his own drink, savouring the cold burn. “I’ll stay. I won’t let you do anything you’ll regret.”

“Yeah yeah, that’s what you said in Thailand,” Tony grouses, but he relaxes and knocks his own drink back in a practiced single swallow. “I made them stuff, even after they started sending everything back, saying they didn’t want to be _beholden_ to me. I couldn’t stop.”

“Where?” Tony waves a hand at the cabinet and, unable to help himself, Rhodey opens it to take a look. It’s overflowing. He clenches his teeth in anger and counts slowly backwards from fifty. He wants to take a hammer to it all at the thought of how hurt and alone Tony must have been, locking himself down here, making things to protect people he, for some unknown reason, still cared about, knowing that they would refuse to take them, but unable to stop creating things that would keep them safe. When he turns back around, Tony is crying. Not much, and not ostentatiously, just a couple of dripping tears. “Oh Tony.”

“C’n I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did Pepper tell you...did she say I was fucked up? That I was out of control?”

“No,” she hasn’t said anything to him, and Rhodey would bet his life that, even if she had thought it, Pepper would never permit that sentiment to pass her lips.

Tony nods, “I didn’t think so. I just...Fury told me that’s why I can’t be an Avenger.”

He’s drunk. “Tony, when did you last eat?”

“What day is it today?”

That raises an eyebrow. “Thursday.”

“Ah...well, I had takeout on...this week.”

“JARVIS?”

“Sir has not consumed a proper meal since Monday Colonel Rhodes.”

“ _Jesus_ Tony. That’s not healthy.”

Tony sticks his tongue out at him. “’M sleepy.”

Rhodey shook his head. “Let’s get you to bed. I’ll take you for breakfast in the morning or you know...whenever you wake up.”

“You’ll stay?” Tony asks again, voice more vulnerable that Rhodey has ever heard, and he was there in the original aftermath of Afghanistan.

“I’ll stay,” he promises and wishes he’d brought the War Machine armour, without it he’s got no chance of teaching Rogers a lesson, his broken fingers are proof of that, but these people are going to _pay_ for what they’ve done here.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Clint and Steve have both seen Natasha’s report on Tony and expect him to be a certain way. With Pepper now out of the picture, Bruce in India and Thor is Asgard they have no one to show them just how wrong first impressions can be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13  
> Disclaimer: Not mine unfortunately, though considering what I put them through, probably for the best.  
> Warning/Spoilers: ANGST, emotional Tony hurt, feels, unintentional bullying, misconceptions  
> Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, gen
> 
> A/N: OK, I'm not sure what everyone has read in the comments so...this was originally written as a one shot, and, as I hate unfinished WIPs it was all-but-finished when I started posting. What I wasn't expecting was so much feedback from you lovely people (thanks for that, you made my week with all your comments) and, since the story was written, I wasn't able to take many of the excellent (if somewhat vicious in places) suggestions. Rest assured that, despite how this chapter ends it is meant in a second chance way. The Avengers now have a new chance to do it right, they are not all magically best friends. This will be a six part series and part three will focus exclusively on team building and reconciliation. Those who feel there should be some payback for Steve and Clint...there is. In spades. Hope you will all keep reading and enjoy this final chapter.

**Iron Man Yes, Tony Stark...Not Recommended  
**

 

Tony keeps his eyes shut when he wakes up, playing back what he remembers of the evening. He feels a hot wash of shame at the memory of Rhodey having to come and rescue him from the others not listening to him, he’s a fully grown genius, he should have been able to handle this, but the feeling is almost entirely eclipsed by the warmth that same rescue brings him. He opens his eyes, Rhodey is leaning back in the only comfortable chair playing some kind of word game with JARVIS and throwing what appears to be his own balled up socks for DUM-E to catch. The ‘bot only manages about half the time, but they’re both evidently having fun. He watches for a moment, warmer under the ragged plaid blanket than can be accounted for by mere heat.

He’s sure he doesn’t make a sound or move, but something draws Rhodey’s attention to him and he turns, DUM-E scooting up beside the low couch he’s asleep on and plucking at Tony’s hair. “Morning,” he says. Rhodey looks at him, not unhappy exactly, but definitely something. “What’s wrong Sugarplum?” Tony asks, practiced smile falling into place.

“Yeah, no. You’re not going to do that.”

Tony pauses in the act of sitting up. “Well if I lie here all day you have to wait on me, and I warn you I’m very demanding.”

“You’re not going to hide everything behind your usual asshole mask.”

Tony pinches a lip between his teeth and raises an eyebrow, “Pretty sure I am.”

“Tony.”

He sighs. “You realise I don’t have to listen to you, even if you _do_ have a stern voice and a frowny face?”

“You will listen to me.”

“Will I?”

“If you want me to keep the details of Korea ’95 off of facebook you will.”

“That’s...an astonishingly effective threat.” Tony settles back against the couch cushions. “I warn you though, I don’t talk about feelings. Not even to you Snuggle-bear.”

“That’s fine. I just want you to listen.”

“While you talk about your feelings,” Tony needles.

Rhodey ignores him, too used to Tony’s preferred method of deflecting uncomfortable conversations. “I want to hurt those people upstairs,” he begins, shushing Tony when the other’s eyes go wide. “I want to make them bleed for what they’ve put you through, but I don’t see how that can create anything but a bad situation for you so I won’t unless you want me to.”

“No! God Rhodey, I don’t want you to...Plus, Rogers is like a mountain. You’d get smushed.”

Rhodey gives Tony his stubborn stare, the one that reminds Tony _why_ this man has never allowed Tony at his worst to push him away, “I have the War Machine armour.”

“He still packs a punch. I speak from experience.”

“I still will.”

“...I know. I know you will and...thanks man, really. But I don’t want you to.” Rhodey still looks doubtful. “I really don’t. They’re my team Rhodey.”

A pleading note has crept into his tone; Rhodey glares at him and says, “You know teammates are supposed to have your back.”

“And they do.”

“On the battlefield _and_ off.”

Tony is silent, glaring at his knees. “It’s not their fault I’m an unlikeable ass.”

“It is their fault that you think that about yourself.”

“Rhodey...”

“Tony, no. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to call Pepper. You need someone here with you and I...I’ll respect what you want, but I can’t be here. I don’t think I can even _look_ at Rogers.”

“He’s still Captain America Rhodey. He’s still...your hero or whatever.”

“My hero wouldn’t speak to you how I heard Rogers talk to you last night.”

Tony shrugs, letting it go. He does, sometimes, know how to pick his fights. “I don’t need a minder. You don’t have to drag Pepper away from whatever she’s doing with my company.”

“No, you don’t need a minder Tony, but you do need someone in your corner, because otherwise you hide out down here convincing yourself that you’re at fault.”

“Whatever. I’m hungry.” He eyes Rhodey warily, “Will you punch people if we go to the kitchen? I can’t believe I’m asking you if you can be trusted. The world might fall off its axis. This is not natural.”

“I can control myself for an hour Tony.”

“I hope so. I will be very disappointed in you.”

“Shut up brat.”

*    

Breakfast is...odd. Barton and Rogers are already at the table, they both make a weird fidgeting motion when Tony and Rhodey enter, like they’d like to get up and leave. Rhodey makes a sound not unlike a growl and glares around the room and Rogers goes back to uneasily prodding his food around his plate, Barton shoves a rasher of bacon into his mouth and waves. They’ve both clearly interpreted their desire to leave a room Tony has just entered as the wrong thing to do.

Rhodey pushes Tony into a seat opposite Barton. He’s forceful and it hurts. Usually Tony would complain and make some kind of joke about how he only likes it rough in the bedroom. Rhodey’s angry face does not seem to be directed solely at the others though so he doesn’t. “I want pancakes,” he demands obnoxiously into the tense silence of the kitchen just to remind Rhodey that he’s not a pushover, “blueberries and chocolate chips.”

He’s favoured with a tense smile and then Rhodey begins hauling out the ingredients, clattering everything onto the counter unnecessarily loudly. Rogers flinches at every clatter and keeps his eyes on a plate still filled with a truly amazing amount of food, despite the fact that he’s evidently been eating for a while.

Barton on the other hand has clearly decided it would be best for everyone if the past few weeks had never happened and, to that end, had decided to act as though that is the case. “Morning Stark,” he says brightly, meeting Tony’s surprised expression with a smile of his own. “Nice place you have here.”

“...I...guess.” He shoots an uncertain look at Rogers who is staring fixedly at his rapidly cooling breakfast and has still to say a single word.

“So what are you up to today? I was thinking you could come down to the range with me, if you’re not busy. Look at the mass produced crap SHIELD R&D are foisting off on me and give them a few pointers, show them where they’re going wrong? I left that box for Natasha on her bed by the way. Please don’t tell her I moved her stuff, she’ll be pissed and she frightens me. The weather’s good though, we could go out, put my new car through its paces?”

Tony blinks. It’s not often that he has to assimilate so much information from another person’s speech. Usually he’s the one talking, or else totally disinterested in what they’re saying.

“Tony’s busy today,” Rhodey says stiffly, banging a heaped plate down in front of Tony, Rogers finches again. There’s a light blush covering his cheekbones Tony notes with interest.

“Fair enough, it was kind of last minute,” Barton waves the hand not holding his fork and shovels a load of egg into his mouth and then keeps talking around it, “By the way, if you have half an hour, you should stop by and see Phil later. He’s been asking about you.”

Tony flinches slightly and Rhodey makes the growling sound again.

Barton plows on, “You’ll have to come to the next video game night though Stark. I still can’t beat your high score on the wii. And we’re going to have a cartoon night, show Steve everything he’s missed out on. Which is your favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?”

“Donatello,” Tony answers without thinking.

Barton nods his acceptance of the answer and keeps talking, apparently unphased by the murderous way Rhodey is crunching his cereal. “Speaking of TV shows, has it occurred to you that your suit is Lannister colours?”

That brings a genuine smile to Tony’s face, but he’s distracted from saying anything by the particularly vicious bite Rhodey takes just as Rogers looks like he might possibly be on the brink of risking eye contact and he kicks Rhodey hard under the table instead. Rogers stays silent.

“Think we should start a blog Stark? It would be the most popular thing on the internet; tumblr is already obsessed with us. And I mean, OK, some of our missions are classified and shit, but some of them are just stupid.”

“I think Fury would...what does Fury do to people? Keelhaul them?”

“You think Fury’s on tumblr?” but he doesn’t sound derisive, he sounds like he’s genuinely considering the idea.

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupts abruptly, “Ms. Potts has let me know that she will be arriving at the tower in approximately one hour, she will be expecting to meet you all in the conference room at that time.”

“We have a conference room?” Barton asks, looking interestedly at the ceiling and walls as though he’s expecting to see somewhere for JARVIS to talk from, “Can Ms. Potts even order us around?”

Rhodey growls again but Tony silences him with a glare, “If you can’t use words you don’t get an opinion. And honestly, I’ve just stopped questioning what Pep can and can’t do. It’s never worth risking her wrath. She _glares_.”

Barton shrugs, “Fine, I guess I’ll go and get ready.” Rogers nods and shuffles out behind him, managing not to meet anyone’s eyes as he does so.

“I should go and shower too. I look like shit.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“You know why I love you Honey pie? Because you’re so supportive and caring.”

“Well, I’ll support your ass into the shower.”

“Be careful Rhodey, I might think you’re seducing me.”

“You should be so lucky.”

They are all, somehow, ready on time, all wearing clean clothes and gathered in the conference room when Pepper arrives, heels clicking on hardwood, heralding her arrival. The whole thing reminds Tony of nothing so much as sitting in the headmaster’s study waiting for punishment to descend. The others all clearly feel the same, the seemingly ceaseless meaningless chatter Barton has determinedly kept up has finally come to a stop and Rogers is staring at the clenched hands he has resting on his knees. He stands when Pepper enters the room, a habit too deeply ingrained to be suppressed, but doesn’t raise his head.

Pepper surveys them all and clicks her tongue in the disappointed noise she uses to make board members cave to her demands. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?” she says, entering the room and shutting the door behind her with a snap.

No one answers, but the guilt is so thick Tony thinks he’s going to choke, and he’s never really been good at awkward silences. He says stupid things during awkward silences. This is a scientifically proved fact and it’s a dirty trick of Pepper to use it against him. “Rhodey hit Captain America,” he blurts out.

Rhodey gives him a betrayed glare. “Rogers started it,” he mutters.

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “In all fairness,” says Barton flushing deeply himself, “I started it.”

Rogers looks like he’s on the brink of tears. “That’s not...Clint didn’t...this is my fault ma’am. We’ve...all of us...we’ve behaved unforgivably towards Mr. Stark, but it’s my team, my responsibility, I should have said something. I should have stopped them...us.”

“Tony?” Pepper asks.

Tony stays quiet, what’s he going to say? They won’t let me be an Avenger? He’s pretty sure that’s what Spiderman writes in his diary and he’s way better than that douche.

“Did you know Tony wasn’t an Avenger Pepper?” Rhodey says mildly. Tony is sure Rhodey can read his mind when the mood strikes him.

That jolts an expression from her and her eyes lock onto Tony’s. “No.”

“I’m a _consultant_ ,” he explains.

“I know he didn’t used to qualify, that Natasha’s original report was...but that was months ago. When Phil came to get him during the whole Tesseract business I thought...”

“Apparently not,” Tony says in a would-be light tone.

“I’ll speak to Fury,” Rogers sounds wretched, “of course you’re one of us.”

“Why?” Tony says, “Why now? I don’t want to be an Avenger just because you feel _sorry_ for me.”

“That’s not...You didn’t qualify because...because we misinterpreted your actions. Stark, all we’ve done for weeks is treat you like,” he swallows and looks away, “and you, you’ve made us everything we could ever want, been there for every battle, you’ve saved all of our lives and all of it without complaint, despite how we’ve treated you.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Tony mutters embarrassed, “I act like an insufferable ass, I can’t really blame you when you assume I actually am an insufferable ass.”

Barton gives a tiny, lopsided smile at that, “I’m an insufferable ass too,” he confides, “I should have known better than to judge you for being one.”

Pepper glares around the room. Tony’s pretty sure everyone except Rhodey looks away, “And _how_ exactly did you misinterpret Tony’s actions?” she asks dangerously.

Rogers winces but answers anyway, “We thought he was trying to buy his way onto the team. We were-”

“But didn’t Howard make all of your original armour?”

Rogers nods.

“And all without wanting anything in return from you?”

Rogers nods again, apparently unable to speak through his guilt.

“So why would you assume less of Tony?”

“Because-” Rogers starts, makes a small, despairing noise, and falls silent.

“Because you were punishing him for not _being_ Howard,” Rhodey interjects coldly.

Rogers flinches and hunches in on himself, but doesn’t argue.

“That’s enough,” Tony says sharply. “Back off. He knows that’s not why I did it, and he’s not the only one who made mistakes here.”

“No, I-”

“Not you Barton, Jesus, I thought I was the self obsessed one in this room. _I_ hacked the personal files, and I used some of the things in there to say cruel things myself. I am not actually completely helpless. It’s not like I curled up in a ball and cried myself to sleep every night.” Not that he is going to admit to anyway.

“You’re saying this has all just been a big misunderstanding?” Pepper says, regarding him with an intent gaze that makes Tony feel like she can see into his soul.

“This is more than a misunderstanding,” begins Rhodey.

Rogers interrupts him. “No. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. We- I... _I_ was no better than the people who used to bully me for being too weak to fight back. Tony couldn’t stop us, and we knew that.”

“And everything _I_ said-”

For the first time Rogers meets his eyes, “A cornered animal will fight back the hardest,” he says softly.

Tony doesn’t get a chance to answer that because a distraction immediately comes from behind them in the form of Natasha. She’s wearing a ball-gown completely unsuited to the time of day and an uninhibited smile. “This is awesome Stark, thanks,” she says, gliding into the room. “Have you seen this Clint? It’s armour. Shoot me.”

Rogers falls silent again and seems to shrink slightly in his chair, bending forward so nothing of his face can be seen but his scarlet ears.

The smile falls off Natasha’s face. “What’s wrong? Is it Phil?”

“I- ah...no,” Barton says. “There was...umm...see, you should have had that dress for the mission you’ve just been on. How was that by the way? Everyone dead?”

Natasha nods once. “You can read my report later if you’re so interested. Carry on.”

Barton swallows. “Yes well...we...” it suddenly occurs to him that setting Rogers up to take this fall as well as Rhodey’s tongue lashing last night is unsporting at best, “I thought he was trying to seduce you.”

Natasha saunters towards him, graceful as any predator, “Are you trying to tell me, Hawkeye, that you denied me shoes that turned into knives because you thought they were a come on?”

“...Maybe?”

“Did it never occur to you that giving weaponry to someone is a sure fire way to make sure that _you can’t_ do anything untoward with them?”

“We...I...didn’t actually know...I thought it was a dress, with _stockings_. This is actually not my fault. This is a mistake anyone could have made.”

“My job is to be seduced by people much worse than Stark-”

“Hey!”

“-and I _never_ turn down presents.” She pats his cheek gently and Barton cringes slightly and tries to pull away.

“Alright, Tasha alright, you’re,” his voice tightens, “you’re hurting my hand.”

Tony’s eyes drop to their entwined fingers. He’s not sure what Natasha is doing, but one of Barton’s nails is turning purple.

“Are you going to treat me like a helpless girl who needs you to go through her stuff and decide what she can and can’t handle ever again?”

“No, no alright, just...owwwww Tasha. Stop it!”

She lets go and steps back, “Thank you,” Barton huffs, letting out an obvious sigh of relief and massaging his fingers.

She turns to Tony and he can’t help put press back against Rhodey a very little, she smiles warmly at him though, “Thank you Stark. It really is very useful. And beautiful. Maria will be so jealous.”

“It’s...you’re welcome.”

Pepper looks around the room, laser stare landing on Natasha this time. “What did you write in your report Natasha?” she says quietly.

Natasha doesn’t pretend to misunderstand which report she means, “Nothing that should have led to this. I admit, I was a little wary, but I understand there were particular circumstances at the time of my observation.”

“Natasha never did anything,” Rogers says.

Rhodey and Pepper look at Tony and he quickly nods, “It’s true. She didn’t-”

“I had you banned from seeing Coulson.”

“Yes well, you had just found out that I’d hacked into your personal records.”

“Banned? But the cards I sent-”

“He loved them, they were fine,” Tony interrupts, glaring at Barton who has opened his mouth.

Natasha glares around the room herself. “The dress isn’t the only misunderstanding to have happened in my absence is it?”

Rogers shakes his head, “It was the worst though. That was the only time Tony got physically hurt.”

Behind him, Tony feels Rhodey jerk to full attention, “You _hit_ him! I should have murdered you last night.”

“Go ahead, it’s nothing less than I deserve.”

“Oh for- stop it Rhodey,” Tony grabs hold of him to hold him in place, “You already broke two fingers hitting him last night. And you,” he jerks a finger at Rogers, “you never hit me anyway. It was Barton. And since Barton hits like a girl, it doesn’t count.”

Natasha looks over them all, “How did you turn my report into _this_?” she demands, “I said he was immature, childish, and narcissistic but not...how did you manage this?”

The tearful look is back on Rogers face. “I don’t- I am so sorry Tony.”

Tony shuts his eyes against the sincerity in Rogers baby blue eyes. “All the over emoting in this room is giving me hives. Can we please just go and do something bonding and manly?” Natasha raises a brow at him, “Or womanly, in the interests of not being stabbed with one of my amazing shoe-knife creations, or being glared to death by Pepper, I am willing to do something womanly.”

“You can’t just-”

“Actually Rogers, I can.”

“Steve. Call me Steve. Please.”

“Steve. Yes, yes I can. Don’t worry, I can think of a myriad of ways for you to make this up to me.” He smiles brightly at Pepper and the expression on her face tells him that she’s smirking back, “I want a cupboard full of pork scratchings, a unicorn, Angelina Jolie to come with me to the next gala Pepper makes me go to and half a dozen baby penguins.”

Steve cracks a small, but genuine smile, “I’m sure we can work something out,” he says.

“Welcome to the Avengers,” mutters Clint, “drama, angst and now apparently, penguins.”

 

~finis

**Works inspired by this one:**

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